University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


BKliiam  fifeiker  RarJitoil 

Nettr  ^fork 


FIFTY  YEARS  &>  OTHER  POEMS 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  EX-COLORED  MAN,"  ETC. 

With  an  Introduction  by 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


Copyright,  1917 
By  THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 

All  rights  reservtd 


fo 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


I/OR  permission  to  reprint  certain  poems  in  this 
book  thanks  are  due  to  the  editors  and  proprie 
tors  of  the  Century  Magazine,  the  Independent, 
The  Crisis,  The  New  York  Times,  and  the  fol 
lowing  copyright  holders,  G.  Ricordi  and  Com 
pany,  G.  Schirmer  and  Company,  and  Joseph 
W.  Stern  and  Company. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Fifty  Years 1 

To  America 5 

O  Black  and  Unknown  Bards 6 

0  Southland 8 

To  Horace  Bumstead 10 

The  Color  Sergeant 11 

The  Black  Mammy 12 

Father,  Father  Abraham 13 

Brothers 14 

Fragment    .                 17 

The  White  Witch        19 

Mother  Night 22 

The  Young  Warrior 23 

The  Glory  of  the  Day  Was  in  Her  Face 24 

From  the  Spanish  of  Placido 25 

From  the  Spanish 25 

From  the  German  of  Uhland 26 

Before  a  Painting 27 

1  Hear  the  Stars  Still  Singing 27 

Girl  of  Fifteen 28 

The  Suicide 29 

Down  by  the  Carib  Sea 30 

I.    Sunrise  in  the  Tropics 30 

II.    Los  Cigarillos 31 

III.  Teestay 32 

IV.  The  Lottery  Girl 33 

V.    The  Dancing  Girl 34 

VI.    Sunset  in  the  Tropics        36 

The  Greatest  of  These  Is  War 37 

A  Mid-Day  Dreamer 40 

The  Temptress 41 

Ghosts  of  the  Old  Year 42 

ix 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Ghost  of  Deacon  Brown 43 

Lazy 45 

Omar 46 

Deep  in  the  Quiet  Wood 47 

Voluptas .47 

The  Word  of  an  Engineer 48 

Life        49 

Sleep 50 

Prayer  at  Sunrise 51 

The  Gift  to  Sing 52 

Morning,  Noon  and  Night 52 

Her  Eyes  Twin  Pools 53 

The  Awakening 54 

Beauty  That  Is  Never  Old 55 

Venus  in  a  Garden 56 

Vashti 57 

The  Reward 60 

JINGLES  fif  CROONS 

Sence  You  Went  Away 63 

Ma  Lady's  Lips  Am  Like  de  Honey 64 

Tunk 66 

Nobody's  Lookin' but  de  Owl  an' de  Moon      ....  69 

You's  Sweet  to  Yo'  Mammy  Jes  de  Same        ....  70 

A  Plantation  Bacchanal 71 

July  in  Georgy 73 

A  Banjo  Song 74 

Answer  to  Prayer        75 

Dat  Gal  o'  Mine 77 

The  Seasons 78 

'Possum  Song 79 

Brer  Rabbit,  You'se  de  Cutes'  of  'Em  All 81 

An  Explanation 82 

De  Little  Pickaninny's  Gone  to  Sleep 83 

The  Rivals 84 

x 


INTRODUCTION 


'F  THE  hundred  millions  who  make  up  the 
population  of  the  United  States  ten  millions 
come  from  a  stock  ethnically  alien  to  the  other 
ninety  millions.  They  are  not  descended  from 
ancestors  who  came  here  voluntarily,  in  the 
spirit  of  adventure  to  better  themselves  or  in 
the  spirit  of  devotion  to  make  sure  of  freedom 
to  worship  God  in  their  own  way.  They  are 
the  grandchildren  of  men  and  women  brought 
here  against  their  wills  to  serve  as  slaves.  It 
is  only  half-a-century  since  they  received  their 
freedom  and  since  they  were  at  last  permitted 
to  own  themselves.  They  are  now  American 
citizens,  with  the  rights  and  the  duties  of  other 
American  citizens;  and  they  know  no  language, 
no  literature  and  no  law  other  than  those  of 
their  fellow  citizens  of  Anglo-Saxon  ancestry. 

When  we  take  stock  of  ourselves  these  ten 
millions  cannot  be  left  out  of  account.  Yet  they 
are  not  as  we  are;  they  stand  apart,  more  or 
less;  they  have  their  own  distinct  characteris 
tics.  It  behooves  us  to  understand  them  as 
best  we  can  and  to  discover  what  manner  of 
people  they  are.  And  we  are  justified  in  in 
quiring  how  far  they  have  revealed  themselves, 


INTRODUCTION 

their  racial  characteristics,  their  abiding  traits, 
their  longing  aspirations,  —  how  far  have  they 
disclosed  these  in  one  or  another  of  the  several 
arts.  They  have  had  their  poets,  their  painters, 
their  composers,  and  yet  most  of  these  have 
ignored  their  racial  opportunity  and  have 
worked  in  imitation  and  in  emulation  of  their 
white  predecessors  and  contemporaries,  con 
tent  to  handle  again  the  traditional  themes. 
The  most  important  and  the  most  significant 
contributions  they  have  made  to  art  are  in 
music,  —  first  in  the  plaintive  beauty  of  the 
so-called  "  Negro  spirituals  "  —  and,  secondly, 
in  the  syncopated  melody  of  so-called  "  rag 
time  "  which  has  now  taken  the  whole  world 
captive. 

In  poetry,  especially  in  the  lyric,  wherein 
the  soul  is  free  to  find  full  expression  for  its 
innermost  emotions,  their  attempts  have  been, 
for  the  most  part,  divisible  into  two  classes. 
In  the  first  of  these  may  be  grouped  the  verses 
in  which  the  lyrist  put  forth  sentiments  com 
mon  to  all  mankind  and  in  no  wise  specifically 
those  of  his  own  race;  and  from  the  days  of 
Phyllis  Wheatley  to  the  present  the  most  of 
the  poems  written  by  men  who  were  not  wholly 
white  are  indistinguishable  from  the  poems 
written  by  men  who  were  wholly  white.  What 
ever  their  merits  might  be,  these  verses  cast 
xii 


INTRODUCTION 

little  or  no  light  upon  the  deeper  racial  senti 
ments  of  the  people  to  whom  the  poets  them 
selves  belonged.  But  in  the  lyrics  to  be  grouped 
in  the  second  of  these  classes  there  was  a  racial 
quality.  This  contained  the  dialect  verses  in 
which  there  was  an  avowed  purpose  of  recaptur 
ing  the  color,  the  flavor,  the  movement  of  life 
in  "  the  quarters,"  in  the  cotton  field  and  in  the 
canebrake.  Even  in  this  effort,  white  authors 
had  led  the  way;  Irvin  Russell  and  Joel  Chand 
ler  Harris  had  made  the  path  straight  for  Paul 
Laurence  Dunbar,  with  his  lilting  lyrics,  often 
infused  with  the  pathos  of  a  down-trodden  folk. 
In  the  following  pages  Mr.  James  Weldon 
Johnson  conforms  to  both  of  these  traditions. 
He  gathers  together  a  group  of  lyrics,  delicate 
in  workmanship,  fragrant  with  sentiment,  and 
phrased  in  pure  and  unexceptionable  English. 
Then  he  has  another  group  of  dialect  verses, 
racy  of  the  soil,  pungent  in  flavor,  swinging  in 
rhythm  and  adroit  in  rhyme.  But  where  he 
shows  himself  a  pioneer  is  the  half-dozen  larger 
and  bolder  poems,  of  a  loftier  strain,  in  which 
he  has  been  nobly  successful  in  expressing 
the  higher  aspirations  of  his  own  people.  It 
is  in  uttering  this  cry  for  recognition,  for  sym 
pathy,  for  understanding,  and  above  all,  for 
justice,  that  Mr.  Johnson  is  most  original  and 
most  powerful.  In  the  superb  and  soaring 


INTRODUCTION 

stanzas  of  "  Fifty  Years  "  (published  exactly 
half-a-century  after  the  signing  of  the  Emanci 
pation  Proclamation)  he  has  given  us  one  of 
the  noblest  commemorative  poems  yet  written 
by  any  American,  —  a  poem  sonorous  in  its 
diction,  vigorous  in  its  workmanship,  elevated 
in  its  imagination  and  sincere  in  its  emotion. 
In  it  speaks  the  voice  of  his  race;  and  the  race 
is  fortunate  in  its  spokesman.  In  it  a  fine  theme 
has  been  finely  treated.  In  it  we  are  made  to 
see  something  of  the  soul  of  the  people  who  are 
our  fellow  citizens  now  and  forever,  —  even  if 
we  do  not  always  so  regard  them.  In  it  we 
are  glad  to  acclaim  a  poem  which  any  living 
poet  might  be  proud  to  call  his  own. 

BRANDER  MATTHEWS. 

Columbia  University 
in  the  City  of  New  York. 


xiv 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 


FIFTY  YEARS  6f  OTHER  POEMS 

FIFTY  YEARS 
1863-1913 

O  brothers  mine,  to-day  we  stand 
Where  half  a  century  sweeps  our  ken, 

Since  God,  through  Lincoln's  ready  hand, 
Struck  off  our  bonds  and  made  us  men. 

Just  fifty  years  —  a  winter's  day  — 

As  runs  the  history  of  a  race ; 
Yet,  as  we  look  back  o'er  the  way, 

How  distant  seems  our  starting  place ! 

Look  farther  back !  Three  centuries ! 

To  where  a  naked,  shivering  score, 
Snatched  from  their  haunts  across  the  seas, 

Stood,  wild-eyed,  on  Virginia's  shore. 

Far,  far  the  way  that  we  have  trod, 
From  heathen  kraals  and  jungle  dens, 

To  freedmen,  freemen,  sons  of  God, 
Americans  and  Citizens. 

A  part  of  His  unknown  design, 
We've  lived  within  a  mighty  age ; 

And  we  have  helped  to  write  a  line 
On  history's  most  wondrous  page. 

[l] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 

A  few  black  bondmen  strewn  along 
The  borders  of  our  eastern  coast, 

Now  grown  a  race,  ten  million  strong, 
An  upward,  onward  marching  host. 

Then  let  us  here  erect  a  stone, 

To  mark  the  place,  to  mark  the  time; 

A  witness  to  God's  mercies  shown, 
A  pledge  to  hold  this  day  sublime. 

And  let  that  stone  an  altar  be, 

Whereon  thanksgivings  we  may  lay, 

Where  we,  in  deep  humility, 

For  faith  and  strength  renewed  may  pray. 

With  open  hearts  ask  from  above 

New  zeal,  new  courage  and  new  pow'rs, 

That  we  may  grow  more  worthy  of 
This  country  and  this  land  of  ours. 

For  never  let  the  thought  arise 

That  we  are  here  on  sufferance  bare ; 

Outcasts,  asylumed  'neath  these  skies, 
And  aliens  without  part  or  share. 

This  land  is  ours  by  right  of  birth, 
This  land  is  ours  by  right  of  toil ; 

We  helped  to  turn  its  virgin  earth, 
Our  sweat  is  in  its  fruitful  soil. 
[2] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

Where  once  the  tangled  forest  stood, — 

Where  flourished  once  rank  weed  and  thorn, — 

Behold  the  path-traced,  peaceful  wood, 
The  cotton  white,  the  yellow  corn. 

To  gain  these  fruits  that  have  been  earned, 
To  hold  these  fields  that  have  been  won, 

Our  arms  have  strained,  our  backs  have  burned, 
Bent  bare  beneath  a  ruthless  sun. 

That  Banner  which  is  now  the  type 

Of  victory  on  field  and  flood  — 
Remember,  its  first  crimson  stripe 

Was  dyed  by  Attucks'  willing  blood. 

And  never  yet  has  come  the  cry  — 

When  that  fair  flag  has  been  assailed  — 

For  men  to  do,  for  men  to  die, 

That  have  we  faltered  or  have  failed. 

We've  helped  to  bear  it,  rent  and  torn, 

Through  many  a  hot-breath 'd  battle  breeze; 

Held  in  our  hands,  it  has  been  borne 
And  planted  far  across  the  seas. 

And  never  yet — O  haughty  Land, 
Let  us,  at  least,  for  this  be  praised  — 

Has  one  black,  treason-guided  hand 
Ever  against  that  flag  been  raised. 
[3] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 

Then  should  we  speak  but  servile  words, 
Or  shall  we  hang  our  heads  in  shame? 

Stand  back  of  new-come  foreign  hordes, 
And  fear  our  heritage  to  claim? 

No!  stand  erect  and  without  fear, 

And  for  our  foes  let  this  suffice  — 
We've  bought  a  rightful  sonship  here, 

And  we  have  more  than  paid  the  price. 

And  yet,  my  brothers,  well  I  know 
The  tethered  feet,  the  pinioned  wings, 

The  spirit  bowed  beneath  the  blow, 

The  heart  grown  faint  from  wounds  and  stings; 

The  staggering  force  of  brutish  might, 

That  strikes  and  leaves  us  stunned  and  daezd ; 

The  long,  vain  waiting  through  the  night 
To  hear  some  voice  for  justice  raised. 

Full  well  I  know  the  hour  when  hope 
Sinks  dead,  and  'round  us  everywhere 

Hangs  stifling  darkness,  and  we  grope 
With  hands  uplifted  in  despair. 

Courage!     Look  out,  beyond,  and  see 
The  far  horizon's  beckoning  span! 

Faith  in  your  God-known  destiny ! 
We  are  a  part  of  some  great  plan. 
[4] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

Because  the  tongues  of  Garrison 
And  Phillips  now  are  cold  in  death, 

Think  you  their  work  can  be  undone? 
Or  quenched  the  fires  lit  by  their  breath? 

Think  you  that  John  Brown's  spirit  stops? 

That  Lovejoy  was  but  idly  slain? 
Or  do  you  think  those  precious  drops 

From  Lincoln's  heart  were  shed  in  vain? 

That  for  which  millions  prayed  and  sighed, 
That  for  which  tens  of  thousands  fought, 

For  which  so  many  freely  died, 
God  cannot  let  it  come  to  naught. 


TO  AMERICA 

How  would  you  have  us,  as  we  are? 
Or  sinking  'neath  the  load  we  bear? 
Our  eyes  fixed  forward  on  a  star? 
Or  gazing  empty  at  despair? 

Rising  or  falling?   Men  or  things? 
With  dragging  pace  or  footsteps  fleet? 
Strong,  willing  sinews  in  your  wings? 
Or  tightening  chains  about  your  feet? 


[5] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 


O  BLACK  AND  UNKNOWN  BARDS 

O  black  and  unknown  bards  of  long  ago, 
How  came  your  lips  to  touch  the  sacred  fire? 
How,  in  your  darkness,  did  you  come  to  know 
The  power  and  beauty  of  the  minstrel's  lyre? 
Who  first  from  midst  his  bonds  lifted  his  eyes? 
Who  first  from  out  the  still  watch,  lone  and  long, 
Feeling  the  ancient  faith  of  prophets  rise 
Within  his  dark-kept  soul,  burst  into  song? 

Heart  of  what  slave  poured  out  such  melody 
As  "  Steal  away  to  Jesus  "  ?   On  its  strains 
His  spirit  must  have  nightly  floated  free, 
Though  still  about  his  hands  he  felt  his  chains. 
Who  heard  great  "Jordan  roll"?  Whose  star- 
ward  eye 

Saw  chariot  ' '  swing  low  ' '  ?  And  who  was  he 
That  breathed  that  comforting,  melodic  sigh, 
11  Nobody  knows  de  trouble  I  see  "  ? 

What  merely  living  clod,  what  captive  thing, 
Could  up  toward  God  through  all  its  darkness 

grope, 

And  find  within  its  deadened  heart  to  sing 
These  songs  of  sorrow,  love,  and  faith,  and  hope? 
How  did  it  catch  that  subtle  undertone, 
That  note  in  music  heard  not  with  the  ears? 
[6] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

How  sound  the  elusive  reed  so  seldom  blown, 
Which  stirs  the  soul  or  melts  the  heart  to  tears. 

Not  that  great  German  master  in  his  dream 
Of  harmonies  that  thundered  amongst  the  stars 
At  the  creation,  ever  heard  a  theme 
Nobler   than    "  Go   down,    Moses."   Mark   its 

bars, 

How  like  a  mighty  trumpet-call  they  stir 
The  blood.    Such  are  the  notes  that  men  have 

sung 

Going  to  valorous  deeds;  such  tones  there  were 
That    helped    make    history   when    Time   was 

young. 

There  is  a  wide,  wide  wonder  in  it  all, 
That  from  degraded  rest  and  servile  toil 
The  fiery  spirit  of  the  seer  should  call 
These  simple  children  of  the  sun  and  soil. 
O  black  slave  singers,  gone,  forgot,  unfamed, 
You  —  you  alone,  of  all  the  long,  long  line 
Of  those  who've  sung  untaught,  unknown,  un 
named, 
Have  stretched  out  upward,  seeking  the  divine. 

You  sang  not  deeds  of  heroes  or  of  kings ; 
No  chant  of  bloody  war,  no  exulting  pean 
Of  arms-won  triumphs ;  but  your  humble  strings 
You  touched  in  chord  with  music  empyrean. 

[7] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

You  sang  far  better  than  you  knew;  the  songs 
That  for  your  listeners'  hungry  hearts  sufficed 
Still  live,  —  but  more  than  this  to  you  belongs: 
You  sang  a  race  from  wood  and  stone  to  Christ. 

O  SOUTHLAND! 

O  Southland!   O  Southland! 

Have  you  not  heard  the  call, 
The  trumpet  blown,  the  word  made  known 

To  the  nations,  one  and  all? 
The  watchword,  the  hope-word, 

Salvation's  present  plan? 
A  gospel  new,  for  all  —  for  you: 

Man  shall  be  saved  by  man. 

O  Southland!   O  Southland! 

Do  you  not  hear  to-day 
The  mighty  beat  of  onward  feet, 

And  know  you  not  their  way? 
'Tis  forward,  'tis  upward, 

On  to  the  fair  white  arch 
Of  Freedom's  dome,  and  there  is  room 

For  each  man  who  would  march. 

O  Southland,  fair  Southland! 

Then  why  do  you  still  cling 
To  an  idle  age  and  a  musty  page, 

To  a  dead  and  useless  thing? 
[8] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

'Tis  springtime!   'Tis  work-time! 

The  world  is  young  again ! 
And  God's  above,  and  God  is  love, 

And  men  are  only  men. 

O  Southland !  my  Southland ! 

O  birthland !  do  not  shirk 
The  toilsome  task,  nor  respite  ask, 

But  gird  you  for  the  work. 
Remember,  remember 

That  weakness  stalks  in  pride ; 
That  he  is  strong  who  helps  along 

The  faint  one  at  his  side. 


[9] 


FIFTY  YEARS  W  OTHER  POEMS 


To  HORACE  BUMSTEAD 

Have  you  been  sore  discouraged  in  the  fight, 
And  even  sometimes  weighted  by  the  thought 
That  those  with  whom  and  those  for  whom 
you  fought 

Lagged  far  behind,  or  dared  but  faintly  smite? 

And  that  the  opposing  forces  in  their  might 
Of  blind  inertia  rendered  as  for  naught 
All  that  throughout  the  long  years  had  been 
wrought, 

And  powerless  each  blow  for  Truth  and  Right? 

If  so,  take  new  and  greater  courage  then, 

And  think  no  more  withouten  help  you  stand ; 

For  sure  as  God  on  His  eternal  throne 
Sits,  mindful  of  the  sinful  deeds  of  men, 

—  The  awful  Sword  of  Justice  in  His  hand,  — 
You  shall  not,  no,  you  shall  not,  fight  alone. 


[10] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  COLOR  SERGEANT 

(On  an  Incident  at  the  Battle  of  San  Juan  Hill) 

Under  a  burning  tropic  sun, 
With  comrades  around  him  lying, 
A  trooper  of  the  sable  Tenth 
Lay  wounded,  bleeding,  dying. 

First  in  the  charge  up  the  fort-crowned  hill, 
His  company's  guidon  bearing, 
He  had  rushed  where  the  leaden  hail  fell  fast, 
Not  death  nor  danger  fearing. 

He  fell  in  the  front  where  the  fight  grew  fierce, 
Still  faithful  in  life's  last  labor; 
Black  though  his  skin,  yet  his  heart  as  true 
As  the  steel  of  his  blood-stained  saber. 

And  while  the  battle  around  him  rolled, 
Like  the  roar  of  a  sullen  breaker, 
He  closed  his  eyes  on  the  bloody  scene, 
And  presented  arms  to  his  Maker. 

There  he  lay,  without  honor  or  rank, 
But,  still,  in  a  grim-like  beauty; 
Despised  of  men  for  his  humble  race, 
Yet  true,  in  death,  to  his  duty. 


[11] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  BLACK  MAMMY 

O  whitened  head  entwined  in  turban  gay, 
O  kind  black  face,  O  crude,  but  tender  hand, 
O  foster-mother  in  whose  arms  there  lay 
The  race  whose  sons  are  masters  of  the  land ! 
It  was  thine  arms  that  sheltered  in  their  fold, 
It  was  thine  eyes  that  followed  through  the 

length 

Of  infant  days  these  sons.   In  times  of  old 
It   was    thy    breast    that    nourished    them    to 

strength. 

So  often  hast  thou  to  thy  bosom  pressed 
The  golden  head,  the  face  and  brow  of  snow; 
So  often  has  it  'gainst  thy  broad,  dark  breast 
Lain,  set  off  like  a  quickened  cameo. 
Thou  simple  soul,  as  cuddling  down  that  babe 
With  thy  sweet  croon,  so  plaintive  and  so  wild, 
Came  ne'er  the  thought  to  thee,  swift  like  a 

stab, 
That  it  some  day  might  crush  thine  own  black 

child? 


[12] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


FATHER,  FATHER  ABRAHAM 

(On  the  Anniversary  of  Lincoln's  Birth) 

Father,  Father  Abraham, 
To-day  look  on  us  from  above ; 

On  us,  the  offspring  of  thy  faith, 
The  children  of  thy  Christ-like  love. 

For  that  which  we  have  humbly  wrought, 
Give  us  to-day  thy  kindly  smile ; 

Wherein  we've  failed  or  fallen  short, 
Bear  with  us,  Father,  yet  awhile. 

Father,  Father  Abraham, 

To-day  we  lift  our  hearts  to  thee, 

Filled  with  the  thought  of  what  great  price 
Was  paid,  that  we  might  ransomed  be. 

To-day  we  consecrate  ourselves 
Anew  in  hand  and  heart  and  brain, 

To  send  this  judgment  down  the  years: 
The  ransom  was  not  paid  in  vain. 


[13] 


FIFTY  YEARS  y  OTHER  POEMS 


BROTHERS 

See!  There  he  stands;  not  brave,  but  with  an 

air 

Of  sullen  stupor.   Mark  him  well!    Is  he 
Not  more  like  brute  than  man  ?   Look  in  his  eye ! 
No  light  is  there;  none,  save  the  glint  that  shines 
In  the  now  glaring,  and  now  shifting  orbs 
Of  some  wild  animal  caught  in  the  hunter's  trap. 

How  came  this  beast  in  human  shape  and 

form? 
Speak,  man !  —  We  call  you  man  because  you 

wear 
His  shape  —  How  are  you  thus?  Are  you  not 

from 

That  docile,  child-like,  tender-hearted  race 
Which  we  have  known   three  centuries?   Not 

from 
That  more  than  faithful  race  which  through 

three  wars 
Fed  our  dear  wives  and  nursed  our  helpless 

babes 
Without  a  single  breach  of  trust?  Speak  out! 

I  am,  and  am  not. 

Then  who,  why  are  you? 
[14] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

I  am  a  thing  not  new,  I  am  as  old 
As  human  nature.    I  am  that  which  lurks, 
Ready  to  spring  whenever  a  bar  is  loosed ; 
The  ancient  trait  which  fights  incessantly 
Against  restraint,  balks  at  the  upward  climb ; 
The  weight  forever  seeking  to  obey 
The  law  of  downward  pull ;  —  and  I  am  more : 
The  bitter  fruit  am  I  of  planted  seed ; 
The  resultant,  the  inevitable  end 
Of  evil  forces  and  the  powers  of  wrong. 

Lessons  in  degradation,  taught  and  learned, 
The  memories  of  cruel  sights  and  deeds, 
The  pent-up  bitterness,  the  unspent  hate 
Filtered  through  fifteen  generations  have 
Sprung  up  and  found  in  me  sporadic  life. 
In  me  the  muttered  curse  of  dying  men, 
On  me  the  stain  of  conquered  women,  and 
Consuming  me  the  fearful  fires  of  lust, 
Lit  long  ago,  by  other  hands  than  mine. 
In  me  the  down-crushed  spirit,  the  hurled-back 

prayers 

Of  wretches  now  long  dead,  —  their  dire  be 
quests. — 

In  me  the  echo  of  the  stifled  cry 
Of  children  for  their  bartered  mothers'  breasts. 

I  claim  no  race,  no  race  claims  me;  I  am 

(No  more  than  human  dregs ;  degenerate ; 
The  monstrous  offspring  of  the  monster,  Sin ; 
[15] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

I  am  —  just  what  I  am.  .  .  .  The  race  that  fed 
Your  wives  and  nursed  your  babes  would  do  the 

same 
To-day,  but  I  — 

Enough,  the  brute  must  die! 
Quick!   Chain  him  to  that  oak!   It  will  resist 
The  fire  much  longer  than  this  slender  pine. 
Now  bring  the  fuel !   Pile  it 'round  him!  Wait! 
Pile  not  so  fast  or  high !  or  we  shall  lose 
The  agony  and  terror  in  his  face. 
And  now  the  torch!   Good  fuel  that!  the  flames 
Already  leap  head-high.   Ha!  hear  that  shriek! 
And  there's  another!  wilder  than  the  first. 
Fetch  water!  Water!   Pour  a  little  on 
The  fire,  lest  it  should  burn  too  fast.   Hold  so! 
Now  let  it  slowly  blaze  again.  See  there! 
He  squirms!  He  groans!  His  eyes  bulge  wildly 

out, 

Searching  around  in  vain  appeal  for  help ! 
Another  shriek,  the  last!  Watch  how  the  flesh 
Grows  crisp  and  hangs  till,  turned  to  ash,  it  sifts 
Down  through  the  coils  of  chain  that  hold  erect 
The  ghastly  frame  against  the  bark-scorched 

tree. 

Stop!  to  each  man  no  more  than  one  man's 

share. 
You  take  that  bone,  and  you  this  tooth;  the 

chain  — 

[16] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

Let  us  divide  its  links;  this  skull,  of  course, 
In  fair  division,  to  the  leader  comes. 

And  now  his  fiendish  crime  has  been 

avenged ; 

Let  us  back  to  our  wives  and  children.  —  Say, 
What  did  he  mean  by  those  last  muttered  words, 
"  Brothers  in  spirit,  brothers  in  deed  are  we"? 


FRAGMENT 

The  hand  of  Fate  cannot  be  stayed, 
The  course  of  Fate  cannot  be  steered, 
By  all  the  gods  that  man  has  made, 
Nor  all  the  devils  he  has  feared, 
Not  by  the  prayers  that  might  be  prayed 
In  all  the  temples  he  has  reared. 

See!   In  your  very  midst  there  dwell 
Ten  thousand  thousand  blacks,  a  wedge 
Forged  in  the  furnaces  of  hell, 
And  sharpened  to  a  cruel  edge 
By  wrong  and  by  injustice  fell, 
And  driven  by  hatred  as  a  sledge. 

A  wedge  so  slender  at  the  start  — 
Just  twenty  slaves  in  shackles  bound  — 
And  yet,  which  split  the  land  apart 

[17] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

With  shrieks  of  war  and  battle  sound, 
Which  pierced  the  nation's  very  heart, 
And  still  lies  cankering  in  the  wound. 

Not  all  the  glory  of  your  pride, 
Preserved  in  story  and  in  song, 
Can  from  the  judging  future  hide, 
Through  all  the  coming  ages  long, 
That  though  you  bravely  fought  and  died, 
You  fought  and  died  for  what  was  wrong. 

'Tis  fixed  —  for  them  that  violate 
The  eternal  laws,  naught  shall  avail 
Till  they  their  error  expiate ; 
Nor  shall  their  unborn  children  fail 
To  pay  the  full  required  weight 
Into  God's  great,  unerring  scale. 

Think  not  repentance  can  redeem. 
That  sin  his  wages  can  withdraw ; 
No,  think  as  well  to  change  the  scheme 
Of  worlds  that  move  in  reverent  awe ; 
Forgiveness  is  an  idle  dream, 
God  is  not  love,  no,  God  is  law. 


[18] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  WHITE  WITCH 

O,  brothers  mine,  take  care!  Take  care! 
The  great  white  witch  rides  out  to-night, 
Trust  not  your  prowess  nor  your  strength ; 
Your  only  safety  lies  in  flight ; 
For  in  her  glance  there  is  a  snare, 
And  in  her  smile  there  is  a  blight. 

The  great  white  witch  you  have  not  seen? 
Then,  younger  brothers  mine,  forsooth, 
Like  nursery  children  you  have  looked 
For  ancient  hag  and  snaggled  tooth ; 
But  no,  not  so;  the  witch  appears 
In  all  the  glowing  charms  of  youth. 

Her  lips  are  like  carnations  red, 
Her  face  like  new-born  lilies  fair, 
Her  eyes  like  ocean  waters  blue, 
She  moves  with  subtle  grace  and  air, 
And  all  about  her  head  there  floats 
The  golden  glory  of  her  hair. 

But  though  she  always  thus  appears 
In  form  of  youth  and  mood  of  mirth, 
Unnumbered  centuries  are  hers, 

[19] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 

The  infant  planets  saw  her  birth ; 
The  child  of  throbbing  Life  is  she, 
Twin  sister  to  the  greedy  earth. 

And  back  behind  those  smiling  lips, 
And  down  within  those  laughing  eyes, 
And  underneath  the  soft  caress 
Of  hand  and  voice  and  purring  sighs, 
The  shadow  of  the  panther  lurks, 
The  spirit  of  the  vampire  lies. 

For  I  have  seen  the  great  white  witch, 
And  she  has  led  me  to  her  lair, 
And  I  have  kissed  her  red,  red  lips 
And  cruel  face  so  white  and  fair ; 
Around  me  she  has  twined  her  arms, 
And  bound  me  with  her  yellow  hair. 

I  felt  those  red  lips  burn  and  sear 
My  body  like  a  living  coal ; 
Obeyed  the  power  of  those  eyes 
As  the  needle  trembles  to  the  pole ; 
And  did  not  care  although  I  felt 
The  strength  go  ebbing  from  my  soul. 

Oh !  she  has  seen  your  strong  young  limbs, 
And  heard  your  laughter  loud  and  gay, 
And  in  your  voices  she  has  caught 

[20] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

The  echo  of  a  far-off  day, 

When  man  was  closer  to  the  earth ; 

And  she  has  marked  you  for  her  prey. 

She  feels  the  old  Antsean  strength 
In  you,  the  great  dynamic  beat 
Of  primal  passions,  and  she  sees 
In  you  the  last  besieged  retreat 
Of  love  relentless,  lusty,  fierce, 
Love  pain-ecstatic,  cruel-sweet. 

O,  brothers  mine,  take  care!  Take  care! 
The  great  white  witch  rides  out  to-night. 
O,  younger  brothers  mine,  beware! 
Look  not  upon  her  beauty  bright ; 
For  in  her  glance  there  is  a  snare, 
And  in  her  smile  there  is  a  blight. 


[21] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


MOTHER  NIGHT 

Eternities  before  the  first-born  day, 

Or  ere  the  first  sun  fledged  his  wings  of  flame, 
Calm  Night,  the  everlasting  and  the  same, 

A  brooding  mother  over  chaos  lay. 

And  whirling  suns  shall  blaze  and  then  decay, 
Shall  run  their  fiery  courses  and  then  claim 
The  haven  of  the  darkness  whence  they  came ; 

Back  to  Nirvanic  peace  shall  grope  their  way. 

So  when  my  feeble  sun  of  life  burns  out, 

And  sounded  is  the  hour  for  my  long  sleep, 

I  shall,  full  weary  of  the  feverish  light, 
Welcome  the  darkness  without  fear  or  doubt, 
And  heavy-lidded,  I  shall  softly  creep 
Into  the  quiet  bosom  of  the  Night. 


[22] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  YOUNG  WARRIOR 

Mother,  shed  no  mournful  tears, 
But  gird  me  on  my  sword ; 
And  give  no  utterance  to  thy  fears, 
But  bless  me  with  thy  word. 

The  lines  are  drawn !  The  fight  is  on ! 
A  cause  is  to  be  won ! 
Mother,  look  not  so  white  and  wan ; 
Give  Godspeed  to  thy  son. 

Now  let  thine  eyes  my  way  pursue 
Where'er  my  footsteps  fare ; 
And  when  they  lead  beyond  thy  view, 
Send  after  me  a  prayer. 

But  pray  not  to  defend  from  harm, 
Nor  danger  to  dispel ; 
Pray,  rather,  that  with  steadfast  arm 
I  fight  the  battle  well. 

Pray,  mother  of  mine,  that  I  always  keep 
My  heart  and  purpose  strong, 
My  sword  unsullied  and  ready  to  leap 
Unsheathed  against  the  wrong. 


[23] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  DAY  WAS 
IN  HER  FACE 

The  glory  of  the  day  was  in  her  face, 
The  beauty  of  the  night  was  in  her  eyes. 
And  over  all  her  loveliness,  the  grace 
Of  Morning  blushing  in  the  early  skies. 

And  in  her  voice,  the  calling  of  the  dove; 
Like  music  of  a  sweet,  melodious  part. 
And  in  her  smile,  the  breaking  light  of  love; 
And  all  the  gentle  virtues  in  her  heart. 

And  now  the  glorious  day,  the  beauteous  night, 
The  birds  that  signal  to  their  mates  at  dawn, 
To  my  dull  ears,  to  my  tear-blinded  sight 
Are  one  with  all  the  dead,  since  she  is  gone. 


[24] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

SONNET 

(From  the  Spanish  of  Pldcido) 

Enough  of  love !   Let  break  its  every  hold ! 

Ended  my  youthful  folly !  for  I  know 

That,  like  the  dazzling,  glister-shedding  snow, 
Celia,  thou  art  beautiful,  but  cold. 
I  do  not  find  in  thee  that  warmth  which  glows, 

Which,  all  these  dreary  days,  my  heart  has 
sought, 

That  warmth  without  which  love  is  lifeless, 

naught 
More  than  a  painted  fruit,  a  waxen  rose. 

Such  love  as  thine,  scarce  can  it  bear  love'sname, 
Deaf  to  the  pleading  notes  of  his  sweet  lyre, 

A  frank,  impulsive  heart  I  wish  to  claim, 
A  heart  that  blindly  follows  its  desire. 

I  wish  to  embrace  a  woman  full  of  flame, 
I  want  to  kiss  a  woman  made  of  fire. 


FROM  THE  SPANISH 

Twenty  years  go  by  on  noiseless  feet, 

He  returns,  and  once  again  they  meet, 

She  exclaims,  "Good  heavens!  and  is  that  he? 

He  mutters,  "My  God!  and  that  is  she!" 

[25] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND 

Three  students  once  tarried  over  the  Rhine, 
And  into  Frau  Wirthin's  turned  to  dine. 

"Say,  hostess,  have  you  good  beer  and  wine? 
And  where  is  that  pretty  daughter  of  thine?" 

"My  beer  and  wine  is  fresh  and  clear. 
My  daughter  lies  on  her  funeral  bier/' 

They  softly  tipped  into  the  room ; 
She  lay  there  in  the  silent  gloom. 

The  first  the  white  cloth  gently  raised, 
And  tearfully  upon  her  gazed. 

"If  thou  wert  alive,  O,  lovely  maid, 

My  heart  at  thy  feet  would  to-day  be  laid!" 

The  second  covered  her  face  again, 
And  turned  away  with  grief  and  pain. 

"Ah,  thou  upon  thy  snow-white  bier! 
And  I  have  loved  thee  so  many  a  year." 

The  third  drew  back  again  the  veil, 
And  kissed  the  lips  so  cold  and  pale. 

"I've  loved  thee  always,  I  love  thee  to-day, 
And  will  love  thee,  yes,  forever  and  aye!" 

[26] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 


BEFORE  A  PAINTING 

I  knew  not  who  had  wrought  with  skill  so  fine 
What  I  beheld ;  nor  by  what  laws  of  art 
He  had  created  life  and  love  and  heart 

On  canvas,  from  mere  color,  curve  and  line. 

Silent  I  stood  and  made  no  move  or  sign ; 
Not  with  the  crowd,  but  reverently  apart; 
Nor  felt  the  power  my  rooted  limbs  to  start, 

But  mutely  gazed  upon  that  face  divine. 

And  over  me  the  sense  of  beauty  fell, 
As  music  over  a  raptured  listener  to 
The  deep-voiced  organ  breathing  out  a 

hymn; 

Or  as  on  one  who  kneels,  his  beads  to  tell, 
There  falls  the  aureate  glory  filtered  through 
The  windows  in  some  old  cathedral  dim. 

I  HEAR  THE  STARS  STILL  SINGING 

I  hear  the  stars  still  singing 
To  the  beautiful,  silent  night, 
As  they  speed  with  noiseless  winging 
Their  ever  westward  flight. 
I  hear  the  waves  still  falling 
On  the  stretch  of  lonely  shore, 
But  the  sound  of  a  sweet  voice  calling 
I  shall  hear,  alas!  no  more. 
[27] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 


GIRL  OF  FIFTEEN 

Girl  of  fifteen, 

I  see  you  each  morning  from  my  window 
As  you  pass  on  your  way  to  school. 
I  do  more  than  see,  I  watch  you. 
I  furtively  draw  the  curtain  aside. 
And  my  heart  leaps  through  my  eyes 
And  follows  you  down  the  street ; 
Leaving  me  behind,  half -hid 
And  wholly  ashamed. 

What  holds  me  back, 

Half-hid  behind  the  curtains  and  wholly 

ashamed, 
But  my  forty  years  beyond  your  fifteen? 

Girl  of  fifteen,  as  you  pass 

There  passes,  too,  a  lightning  flash  of  time 

In  which  you  lift  those  forty  summers  off  my 

head, 
And  take  those  forty  winters  out  of  my  heart. 


[28] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  SUICIDE 

For  fifty  years, 
Cruel,  insatiable  Old  World, 
You  have  punched  me  over  the  heart 
Till  you  made  me  cough  blood. 
The  few  paltry  things  I  gathered 
You  snatched  out  of  my  hands. 
You  have  knocked  the  cup  from  my  thirsty  lips. 
You  have  laughed  at  my  hunger  of  body  and 
soul. 

You  look  at  me  now  and  think, 

uHe  is  still  strong, 

There  ought  to  be  twenty  more  years  of  good 

punching  there. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  will  be  old  and  broken, 
Not  able  to  strike  back, 
But  cringing  and  crying  for  leave 
To  live  a  little  longer." 

Those  twenty,  pitiful,  extra  years 

Would  please  you  more  than  the  fifty  past, 

Would  they  not,  Old  World? 

Well,  I  hold  them  up  before  your  greedy  eyes, 

And  snatch  them  away  as  I  laugh  in  your  face, 

Ha!  Ha! 

Bang — ! 

[29] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 


DOWN  BY  THE  CARIB  SEA 

I 

Sunrise  in  the  Tropics 

Sol,  Sol,  mighty  lord  of  the  tropic  zone, 
Here  I  wait  with  the  trembling  stars 
To  see  thee  once  more  take  thy  throne. 

There  the  patient  palm  tree  watching 
Waits  to  say,  "Good  morn"  to  thee, 
And  a  throb  of  expectation 
Pulses  through  the  earth  and  me. 

Now,  o'er  nature  falls  a  hush, 
Look !  the  East  is  all  a-blush ; 
And  a  growing  crimson  crest 
Dims  the  late  stars  in  the  west ; 
Now,  a  flood  of  golden  light 
Sweeps  across  the  silver  night, 
Swift  the  pale  moon  fades  away 
Before  the  light-girt  King  of  Day, 
See !  the  miracle  is  done ! 
Once  more  behold !  The  Sun ! 


[30] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

H 
Los  Cigarillos 

This  is  the  land  of  the  dark-eyed  gente, 

Of  the  dolce  far  niente, 

Where  we  dream  away 

Both  the  night  and  day, 

At  night-time  in  sleep  our  dreams  we  invoke, 

Our  dreams  come  by  day  through  the  redolent 

smoke, 

As  it  lazily  curls, 
And  slowly  unfurls 
From  our  lips, 
And  the  tips 
Of  our  fragrant  cigarillos. 
For  life  in  the  tropics  is  only  a  joke, 
So  we  pass  it  in  dreams,  and  we  pass  it  in  smoke, 
Smoke  —  smoke  —  smoke. 

Tropical  constitutions 
Call  for  occasional  revolutions; 
But  after  that's  through, 
Why  there's  nothing  to  do 
But  smoke  —  smoke ; 

For  life  in  the  tropics  is  only  a  joke, 

So  we  pass  it  in  dreams,  and  we  pass  it  in  smoke, 

Smoke  —  smoke  —  smoke. 

[31] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

III 

Teestay 

Of  tropic  sensations,  the  worst 
Is,  sin  duda,  the  tropical  thirst. 

When  it  starts  in  your  throat  and  constantly 

grows, 

Till  you  feel  that  it  reaches  down  to  your  toes, 
When  your  mouth  tastes  like  fur 
And  your  tongue  turns  to  dust, 
There's  but  one  thing  to  do, 
And  do  it  you  must, 
Drink  teestay. 

Teestay,  a  drink  with  a  history, 

A  delicious,  delectable  mystery, 

"Cinco  centavos  el  vaso,  senor," 

If  you  take  one,  you  will  surely  want  more. 

Teestay,  teestay, 

The  national  drink  on  a  feast  day; 

How  it  coolingly  tickles, 

As  downward  it  trickles, 

Teestay,  teestay. 

And  you  wish,  as  you  take  it  down  at  a  quaff, 
That  your  neck  was  constructed  a  la  giraffe. 
Teestay,  teestay. 

[32] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 

IV 
The  Lottery  Girl 

"Lottery,  lottery, 
Take  a  chance  at  the  lottery? 
Take  a  ticket, 
Or,  better,  take  two ; 
Who  knows  what  the  future 
May  hold  for  you? 
Lottery,  lottery, 
Take  a  chance  at  the  lottery?" 

Oh,  limpid-eyed  girl, 

I  would  take  every  chance, 

If  only  the  prize 

Were  a  love-flashing  glance 

From  your  fathomless  eyes. 

"Lottery,  lottery, 
Try  your  luck  at  the  lottery? 
Consider  the  size 
Of  the  capital  prize, 
And  take  tickets 
For  the  lottery. 
Tickets,  senor?  Tickets,  senor? 
Take  a  chance  at  the  lottery?" 

Oh,  crimson-lipped  girl, 
With  the  magical  smile, 
[33] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

I  would  count  that  the  gamble 
Were  well  worth  the  while, 
Not  a  chance  would  I  miss, 
If  only  the  prize 
Were  a  honey-bee  kiss 
Gathered  in  sips 
From  those  full-ripened  lips, 
And  a  love-flashing  glance 
From  your  eyes. 

V 

The  Dancing  Girl 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  dance? 
Perhaps,  you  do  know,  in  a  fashion ; 
But  by  dancing  I  mean, 
Not  what's  generally  seen, 
But  dancing  of  fire  and  passion, 
Of  fire  and  delirious  passion. 

With  a  dusky-haired  senorita, 
Her  dark,  misty  eyes  near  your  own, 
And  her  scarlet-red  mouth, 
Like  a  rose  of  the  south, 
The  reddest  that  ever  was  grown, 
So  close  that  you  catch 
Her  quick-panting  breath 
As  across  your  own  face  it  is  blown, 
With  a  sigh,  and  a  moan. 
[34] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

Ah !  that  is  dancing, 

As  here  by  the  Carib  it's  known. 

Now,  whirling  and  twirling 

Like  furies  we  go ; 

Now,  soft  and  caressing 

And  sinuously  slow ; 

With  an  undulating  motion, 

Like  waves  on  a  breeze-kissed  ocean: — 

And  the  scarlet-red  mouth 

Is  nearer  your  own, 

And  the  dark,  misty  eyes 

Still  softer  have  grown. 

Ah!  that  is  dancing,  that  is  loving, 
As  here  by  the  Carib  they're  known. 


35] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 


VI 

Sunset  in  the  Tropics 

A  silver  flash  from  the  sinking  sun, 

Then  a  shot  of  crimson  across  the  sky 

That,  bursting,  lets  a  thousand  colors  fly 

And  riot  among  the  clouds;  they  run, 

Deepening  in  purple,  flaming  in  gold, 

Changing,  and  opening  fold  after  fold. 

Then  fading  through  all  of  the  tints  of  the  rose 

into  gray, 

Till,  taking  quick  fright  at  the  coming  night, 
They  rush  out  down  the  west, 
In  hurried  quest 
Of  the  fleeing  day. 

Now  above  where  the  tardiest  color  flares 

a  moment  yet, 

One  point  of  light,  now  two,  now  three  are  set 
To  form  the  starry  stairs,  — 
And,  in  her  fire-fly  crown, 
Queen  Night,  on  velvet  slippered  feet,  comes 

softly  down. 


[36] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 


AND  THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  IS  WAR 

Around  the  council-board  of  Hell,  with  Satan  at 
their  head, 

The  Three  Great  Scourges  of  humanity  sat. 

Gaunt  Famine,  with  hollow  cheek  and  voice, 
arose  and  spoke, — 

"O,  Prince,  I  have  stalked  the  earth, 

And  my  victims  by  ten  thousands  I  have  slain, 

I  have  smitten  old  and  young. 

Mouths  of  the  helpless  old  moaning  for  bread, 
I  have  filled  with  dust; 

And  I  have  laughed  to  see  a  crying  babe  tug  at 
the  shriveling  breast 

Of  its  mother,  dead  and  cold. 

I  have  heard  the  cries  and  prayers  of  men  go  up 
to  a  tearless  sky, 

And  fall  back  upon  an  earth  of  ashes; 

But,  heedless,  I  have  gone  on  with  my  work. 

'Tis  thus,  O,  Prince,  that  I  have  scourged  man 
kind/' 

And  Satan  nodded  his  head. 

Pale    Pestilence,    with    stenchful   breath,    then 

spoke  and  said, — 
"  Great  Prince,  my  brother,   Famine,  attacks 

the  poor. 

[37] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

He  is  most  terrible  against  the  helpless  and  the 

old. 
But  I  have  made  a  charnel-house  of  the  mightiest 

cities  of  men. 
When  I  strike,  neither  their  stores  of  gold  or  of 

grain  avail. 
With  a  breath  I  lay  low  their  strongest,  and 

wither  up  their  fairest. 
I   come  upon  them  without  warning,  lancing 

invisible  death. 

From  me  they  flee  with  eyes  and  mouths  dis 
tended  ; 
I  poison  the  air  for  which  they  gasp,  and  I  strike 

them  down  fleeing. 
'Tis  thus,  great  Prince,  that  I  have  scourged 

mankind." 

And  Satan  nodded  his  head. 

Then  the  red  monster,  War,  rose  up  and  spoke, — 
His  blood-shot  eyes  glared  'round  him,  and  his 

thundering  voice 

Echoed  through  the  murky  vaults  of  Hell.  — 
"  O,  mighty  Prince,  my  brothers,  Famine  and 

Pestilence, 
Have  slain  their  thousands  and  ten  thousands, — 

true; 

But  the  greater  their  victories  have  been, 
The  more  have  they  wakened  in  Man's  breast 
[381 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

The  God-like  attributes  of  sympathy, of  brother 
hood  and  love 

And  made  of  him  a  searcher  after  wisdom. 

But  I  arouse  in  Man  the  demon  and  the  brute, 

I  plant  black  hatred  in  his  heart  and  red  re 
venge. 

From  the  summit  of  fifty  thousand  years  of 
upward  climb 

I  haul  him  down  to  the  level  of  the  start,  back 
to  the  wolf. 

I  give  him  claws. 

I  set  his  teeth  into  his  brother's  throat. 

I  make  him  drunk  with  his  brother's  blood. 

And  I  laugh  ho !  ho !  while  he  destroys  himself. 

O,  mighty  Prince,  not  only  do  I  slay, 

But  I  draw  Man  hellward." 

And  Satan  smiled,  stretched  out  his  hand,  and 

said, — 
"  O  War,  of  all  the  scourges  of  humanity,  I 

crown  you  chief." 

And  Hell  rang  with  the  acclamation  of  the 
Fiends. 


[39] 


FIFTY  YEARS  &  OTHER  POEMS 


A  MID-DAY  DREAMER 

I  love  to  sit  alone,  and  dream, 

And  dream,  and  dream; 

In  fancy's  boat  to  softly  glide 

Along  some  stream 

Where  fairy  palaces  of  gold 

And  crystal  bright 

Stand  all  along  the  glistening  shore : 

A  wondrous  sight. 

My  craft  is  built  of  ivory, 

With  silver  oars, 

The  sails  are  spun  of  golden  threads, 

And  priceless  stores 

Of  precious  gems  adorn  its  prow, 

And  'round  its  mast 

An  hundred  silken  cords  are  set 

To  hold  it  fast. 

My  galley-slaves  are  sprightly  elves 

Who,  as  they  row, 

And  as  their  shining  oars  they  swing 

Them  to  and  fro, 

Keep  time  to  music  wafted  on 

The  scented  air, 

Made  by  the  mermaids  as  they  comb 

Their  golden  hair. 

[40] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

And  I  the  while  lie  idly  back, 
And  dream,  and  dream, 
And  let  them  row  me  where  they  will 
Adown  the  stream. 


THE  TEMPTRESS 

Old  Devil,  when  you  come  with  horns  and  tail, 
With  diabolic  grin  and  crafty  leer ; 
I  say,  such  bogey-man  devices  wholly  fail 
To  waken  in  my  heart  a  single  fear. 

But  when  you  wear  a  form  I  know  so  well, 
A  form  so  human,  yet  so  near  divine; 
'Tis  then  I  fall  beneath  the  magic  of  your  spell, 
'Tis  then  I  know  the  vantage  is  not  mine. 

Ah!  when  you  take  your  horns  from  off  your 

head, 

And  soft  and  fragrant  hair  is  in  their  place; 
I  must  admit  I  fear  the  tangled  path  I  tread 
When  that  dear  head  is  laid  against  my  face. 

And  at  what  time  you  change  your  baleful  eyes 
For  stars  that  melt  into  the  gloom  of  night, 
All  of  my  courage,  my  dear  fellow,  quickly  flies; 
I  know  my  chance  is  slim  to  win  the  fight. 


[41] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

And  when,  instead  of  charging  down  to  wreck 
Me  on  a  red-hot  pitchfork  in  your  hand, 
You  throw  a  pair  of  slender  arms  about  my  neck, 
I  dare  not  trust  the  ground  on  which  I  stand. 

Whene'er  in  place  of  using  patent  wile, 

Or  trying  to  frighten  me  with  horrid  grin, 

You  tempt  me  with  two  crimson  lips  curved  in  a 

smile ; 
Old  Devil,  I  must  really  own,  you  win. 

GHOSTS  OF  THE  OLD  YEAR 

The  snow  has  ceased  its  fluttering  flight, 
The  wind  sunk  to  a  whisper  light, 
An  ominous  stillness  fills  the  night, 

A  pause  —  a  hush. 

At  last,  a  sound  that  breaks  the  spell, 
Loud,  clanging  mou things  of  a  bell, 
That  through  the  silence  peal  and  swell, 

And  roll,  and  rush. 

What  does  this  brazen  tongue  declare, 
That  falling  on  the  midnight  air 
Brings  to  my  heart  a  sense  of  care 

Akin  to  fright? 

'Tis  telling  that  the  year  is  dead, 
The  New  Year  come,  the  Old  Year  fled, 
Another  leaf  before  me  spread 

On  which  to  write. 

[42] 


FIFTY  YEARS  y  OTHER  POEMS 

It  tells  the  deeds  that  were  not  done, 

It  tells  of  races  never  run, 

Of  victories  that  were  not  won, 

Barriers  unleaped. 
It  tells  of  many  a  squandered  day, 
Of  slighted  gems  and  treasured  clay, 
Of  precious  stores  not  laid  away, 

Of  fields  unreaped. 

And  so  the  years  go  swiftly  by, 
Each,  coming,  brings  ambitions  high, 
And  each,  departing,  leaves  a  sigh 

Linked  to  the  past. 
Large  resolutions,  little  deeds; 
Thus,  filled  with  aims  unreached,  life  speeds 
Until  the  blotted  record  reads, 

" Failure!"  at  last. 


THE  GHOST  OF  DEACON  BROWN 

In  a  backwoods  town 

Lived  Deacon  Brown, 

And  he  was  a  miser  old ; 

He  would  trust  no  bank, 

So  he  dug,  and  sank 

In  the  ground  a  box  of  gold, 

Down  deep  in  the  ground  a  box  of  gold. 

[43] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

He  hid  his  gold, 

As  has  been  told, 

He  remembered  that  he  did  it ; 

But  sad  to  say, 

On  the  very  next  day, 

He  forgot  just  where  he  hid  it: 

To  find  his  gold  he  tried  and  tried 

Till  he  grew  faint  and  sick,  and  died. 

Then  on  each  dark  and  gloomy  night 

A  form  in  phosphorescent  white, 

A  genuine  hair-raising  sight, 

Would  wander  through  the  town. 

And  as  it  slowly  roamed  around, 

With  a  spade  it  dug  each  foot  of  ground ; 

So  the  folks  about 

Said  there  was  no  doubt 

'Twas  the  ghost  of  Deacon  Brown. 

Around  the  church 

This  Ghost  would  search, 

And  whenever  it  would  see 

The  passers-by 

Take  wings  and  fly 

It  would  laugh  in  ghostly  glee, 

Hee,  hee! — it  would  laugh  in  ghostly  glee. 

And  so  the  town 
Went  quickly  down, 

[44] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

For  they  said  that  it  was  haunted ; 

And  doors  and  gates, 

So  the  story  states, 

Bore  a  notice,  " Tenants  wanted." 

And  the  town  is  now  for  let, 
But  the  ghost  is  digging  yet, 


"LAZY" 

Some  men  enjoy  the  constant  strife 
Of  days  with  work  and  worry  rife, 
But  that  is  not  my  dream  of  life: 

I  think  such  men  are  crazy. 
For  me,  a  life  with  worries  few, 
A  job  of  nothing  much  to  do, 
Just  pelf  enough  to  see  me  through: 

I  fear  that  I  am  lazy. 

On  winter  mornings  cold  and  drear, 
When  six  o'clock  alarms  I  hear, 
'Tis  then  I  love  to  shift  my  ear, 

And  hug  my  downy  pillows. 
When  in  the  shade  it's  ninety-three, 
No  job  in  town  looks  good  to  me, 
I'd  rather  loaf  down  by  the  sea, 

And  watch  the  foaming  billows. 

[45] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

Some  people  think  the  world's  a  school, 
Where  labor  is  the  only  rule ; 
But  I'll  not  make  myself  a  mule, 

And  don't  you  ever  doubt  it. 
I  know  that  work  may  have  its  use, 
But  still  I  feel  that's  no  excuse 
For  turning  it  into  abuse ; 

What  do  you  think  about  it? 

Let  others  fume  and  sweat  and  boil, 
And  scratch  and  dig  for  golden  spoil, 
And  live  the  life  of  work  and  toil, 

Their  lives  to  labor  giving. 
But  what  is  gold  when  life  is  sped, 
And  life  is  short,  as  has  been  said, 
And  we  are  such  a  long  time  dead, 

I'll  spend  my  life  in  living. 


OMAR 

Old  Omar,  jolly  sceptic,  it  may  be 
That,  after  all,  you  found  the  magic  key 
To  life  and  all  its  mystery,  and  I 
Must  own  you  have  almost  persuaded  me, 


[46] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 


DEEP  IN  THE  QUIET  WOOD 

Are  you  bowed  down  in  heart? 

Do  you  but  hear  the  clashing  discords  and  the 
din  of  life? 

Then  come  away,  come  to  the  peaceful  wood, 

Here  bathe  your  soul  in  silence.    Listen!   Now, 

From  out  the  palpitating  solitude 

Do  you  not  catch,  yet  faint,  elusive  strains? 

They  are  above,  around,  within  you,  every 
where. 

Silently  listen!  Clear,  and  still  more  clear, 
they  come. 

They  bubble  up  in  rippling  notes,  and  swell  in 
singing  tones. 

Not  let  your  soul  run  the  whole  gamut  of  the 
wondrous  scale 

Until,  responsive  to  the  tonic  chord, 

It  touches  the  diapason  of  God's  grand  cathe 
dral  organ, 

Filling  earth  for  you  with  heavenly  peace 

And  holy  harmonies. 

VOLUPTAS 

To  chase  a  never-reached  mirage 
Across  the  hot,  white  sand, 
And  choke  and  die,  while  gazing  on 
Its  green  and  watered  strand. 

[47] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  WORD  OF  AN  ENGINEER 

"  She's  built  of  steel 
From  deck  to  keel, 
And  bolted  strong  and  tight; 
In  scorn  she'll  sail 
The  fiercest  gale, 
And  pierce  the  darkest  night. 

"  The  builder's  art 
Has  proved  each  part 
Throughout  her  breadth  and  length ; 
Deep  in  the  hulk, 
Of  her  mighty  bulk, 
Ten  thousand  Titans'  strength." 

The  tempest  howls, 

The  Ice  Wolf  prowls, 

The  winds  they  shift  and  veer, 

But  calm  I  sleep, 

And  faith  I  keep 

In  the  word  of  an  engineer. 

Along  the  trail 
Of  the  slender  rail 
The  train,  like  a  nightmare,  flies 
And  dashes  on 

Through  the  black-mouthed  yawn 
Where  the  cavernous  tunnel  lies. 
[48] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

Over  the  ridge, 

Across  the  bridge, 

Swung  twixt  the  sky  and  hell, 

On  an  iron  thread 

Spun  from  the  head 

Of  the  man  in  a  draughtsman's  cell. 

And  so  we  ride 

Over  land  and  tide, 

Without  a  thought  of  fear  — 

Man  never  had 

The  faith  in  God 

That  he  has  in  an  engineer! 


LIFE 

Out  of  the  infinite  sea  of  eternity 
To  climb,  and  for  an  instant  stand 
Upon  an  island  speck  of  time. 

From  the  impassible  peace  of  the  darkness 
To  wake,  and  blink  at  the  garish  light 
Through  one  short  hour  of  fretfulness. 


[49] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


SLEEP 

O  Sleep,  thou  kindest  minister  to  man, 

Silent  distiller  of  the  balm  of  rest, 
How  wonderful  thy  power,  when  naught  else  can, 

To  soothe  the  torn  and  sorrow-laden  breast! 
When  bleeding  hearts  no  comforter  can  find, 

When  burdened  souls  droop  under  weight  of 

woe, 
When  thought  is  torture  to  the  troubled  mind, 

When  grief-relieving  tears  refuse  to  flow ; 
'Tis  then  thou  comest  on  soft-beating  wings, 

And  sweet  oblivion's  peace  from  them  is  shed ; 
But  ah,  the  old  pain  that  the  waking  brings! 

That  lives  again  so  soon  as  thou  art  fled ! 

Man,  why  should  thought  of  death  cause  thee 

to  weep ; 
Since  death  be  but  an  endless,  dreamless  sleep? 


[50] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 


PRAYER  AT  SUNRISE 

O  mighty,  powerful,  dark-dispelling  sun, 

Now  thou  art  risen,  and  thy  day  begun. 

How  shrink  the  shrouding  mists  before  thy  face, 

As  up  thou  spring'st  to  thy  diurnal  race ! 

How  darkness  chases  darkness  to  the  west, 

As  shades  of  light  on  light  rise  radiant  from  thy 

crest ! 
For  thee,  great  source  of  strength,  emblem  of 

might, 

In  hours  of  darkest  gloom  there  is  no  night. 
Thou  shinest  on  though  clouds  hide  thee  from 

sight, 
And  through  each  break  thou  sendest  down  thy 

light. 

O  greater  Maker  of  this  Thy  great  sun, 
Give  me  the  strength  this  one  day's  race  to  run, 
Fill  me  with  light,  fill  me  with  sun-like  strength, 
Fill  me  with  joy  to  rob  the  day  its  length. 
Light  from  within,  light  that  will  outward  shine, 
Strength  to  make  strong  some  weaker  heart 

than  mine, 

Joy  to  make  glad  each  soul  that  feels  its  touch; 
Great  Father  of  the  sun,  I  ask  this  much. 


[51 


FIFTY  YEARS  y  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  GIFT  TO  SING 

Sometimes  the  mist  overhangs  my  path, 
And  blackening  clouds  about  me  cling ; 
But,  oh,  I  have  a  magic  way 
To  turn  the  gloom  to  cheerful  day  — 
I  softly  sing. 

And  if  the  way  grows  darker  still, 
Shadowed  by  Sorrow's  somber  wing, 
With  glad  defiance  in  my  throat, 
I  pierce  the  darkness  with  a  note, 
And  sing,  and  sing. 

I  brood  not  over  the  broken  past, 
Nor  dread  whatever  time  may  bring; 
No  nights  are  dark,  no  days  are  long, 
While  in  my  heart  there  swells  a  song, 
And  I  can  sing. 


MORNING,  NOON  AND  NIGHT 

When  morning  shows  her  first  faint  flush, 
I  think  of  the  tender  blush 
That  crept  so  gently  to  your  cheek 
When  first  my  love  I  dared  to  speak; 
How,  in  your  glance,  a  dawning  ray 
Gave  promise  of  love's  perfect  day. 
[52] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fcf  OTHER  POEMS 

When,  in  the  ardent  breath  of  noon, 
The  roses  with  passion  swoon ; 
There  steals  upon  me  from  the  air 
The  scent  that  lurked  within  your  hair ; 
I  touch  your  hand,  I  clasp  your  form — 
Again  your  lips  are  close  and  warm. 

When  comes  the  night  with  beauteous  skies, 
I  think  of  your  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
Their  mute  entreaty  that  I  stay, 
Although  your  lips  sent  me  away ; 
And  then  falls  memory's  bitter  blight, 
And  dark  —  so  dark  becomes  the  night. 


HER  EYES  TWIN  POOLS 

Her  eyes,  twin  pools  of  mystic  light, 
The  blend  of  star-sheen  and  black  night ; 
O'er  which,  to  sound  their  glamouring  haze, 
A  man  might  bend,  and  vainly  gaze. 

Her  eyes,  twin  pools  so  dark  and  deep, 
In  which  life's  ancient  mysteries  sleep; 
Wherein,  to  seek  the  quested  goal, 
A  man  might  plunge,  and  lose  his  soul. 


[53] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  AWAKENING 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  a  rose 
That  grew  beside  a  lonely  way, 
Close  by  a  path  none  ever  chose, 
And  there  I  lingered  day  by  day. 
Beneath  the  sunshine  and  the  show'r 
I  grew  and  waited  there  apart, 
Gathering  perfume  hour  by  hour, 
And  storing  it  within  my  heart, 

Yet,  never  knew, 
Just  why  I  waited  there  and  grew. 

I  dreamed  that  you  were  a  bee 
That  one  day  gaily  flew  along, 
You  came  across  the  hedge  to  me, 
And  sang  a  soft,  love-burdened  song. 
You  brushed  my  petals  with  a  kiss, 
I  woke  to  gladness  with  a  start, 
And  yielded  up  to  you  in  bliss 
The  treasured  fragrance  of  my  heart ; 

And  then  I  knew 
That  I  had  waited  there  for  you. 


[54] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


BEAUTY  THAT  IS  NEVER  OLD 

When  buffeted  and  beaten  by  life's  storms, 
When  by  the  bitter  cares  of  life  oppressed, 
I  want  no  surer  haven  than  your  arms, 
I  want  no  sweeter  heaven  than  your  breast. 

When  over  my  life's  way  there  falls  the  blight 
Of  sunless  days,  and  nights  of  starless  skies; 
Enough  for  me,  the  calm  and  steadfast  light 
That  softly  shines  within  your  loving  eyes. 

The  world,  for  me,  and  all  the  world  can  hold 
Is  circled  by  your  arms;  for  me  there  lies, 
Within  the  lights  and  shadows  of  your  eyes, 
The  only  beauty  that  is  never  old. 


[55] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 


VENUS  IN  A  GARDEN 

'Twas  at  early  morning, 

The  dawn  was  blushing  in  her  purple  bed, 

When  in  a  sweet,  embowered  garden 

She,  the  fairest  of  the  goddesses, 

The  lovely  Venus, 

Roamed  amongst  the  roses  white  and  red. 

She  sought  for  flowers 

To  make  a  garland 

For  her  golden  head. 

Snow-white  roses,  blood-red  roses, 
In  that  sweet  garden  close, 
Offered  incense  to  the  goddess: 
Both  the  white  and  the  crimson  rose. 

White  roses,  red  roses,  blossoming: 
But  the  fair  Venus  knew 
The  crimson  roses  had  gained  their  hue 
From  the  hearts  that  for  love  had  bled ; 
And  the  goddess  made  a  garland 
Gathered  from  the  roses  red. 


[56] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fe?  OTHER  POEMS 


VASHTI 

I  sometimes  take  you  in  my  dreams  to  a  far- 
off  land  I  used  to  know, 

Back  in  the  ages  long  ago ;  a  land  of  palms  and 
languid  streams. 

A  land,  by  night,  of  jeweled  skies,  by  day,  of 

shores  that  glistened  bright, 
Within  whose  arms,  outstretched  and  white,  a 

sapphire  sea  lay  crescent-wise. 

Where  twilight  fell  like  silver  floss,  where  rose 

the  golden  moon  half-hid 
Behind  a  shadowy  pyramid ;  a  land  beneath  the 

Southern  Cross. 

And  there  the  days  dreamed  in  their  flight,  each 

one  a  poem  chanted  through, 
Which  at  its  close  was  merged  into  the  muted 

music  of  the  night. 

And  you  were  a  princess  in  those  days.   And  I  — 

I  was  your  serving  lad. 
But  who  ever  served  with  heart  so  glad,  or  lived 

so  for  a  word  of  praise? 


157] 


FIFTY  YEARS  V  OTHER  POEMS 

And  if  that  word  you  chanced  to  speak,  how  all 
my  senses  swayed  and  reeled, 

Till  low  beside  your  feet  I  kneeled,  with  happi 
ness  o'erwrought  and  weak. 

If,  when  your  golden  cup  I  bore,  you  deigned  to 

lower  your  eyes  to  mine, 
Eyes  cold,  yet  fervid,  like  the  wine,  I  knew  not 

how  to  wish  for  more. 

I  trembled  at  the  thought  to  dare  to  gaze  upon, 

to  scrutinize 
The  deep-sea  mystery  of  your  eyes,  the  sun-lit 

splendor  of  your  hair. 

To  let  my  timid  glances  rest  upon  you  long 

enough  to  note 
How   fair   and   slender  was  your   throat,  how 

white  the  promise  of  your  breast. 

But  though  I  did  not  dare  to  chance  a  lingering 

look,  an  open  gaze 
Upon  your  beauty's  blinding  rays,  I  ventured 

many  a  stolen  glance. 

I  fancy,  too,  (but  could  not  state  what  trick  of 

mind  the  fancy  caused) 
At  times  your  eyes  upon  me  paused,  and  marked 

my  figure  lithe  and  straight. 
[58] 


FIFTY  YEARS  y  OTHER  POEMS 

Once  when  my  eyes  met  yours  it  seemed  that  in 
your  cheek,  despite  your  pride, 

A  flush  arose  and  swiftly  died ;  or  was  it  some 
thing  that  I  dreamed? 

Within  your  radiance  like  the  star  of  morning, 

there  I  stood  and  served, 
Close  by,  unheeded,  unobserved.  You  were  so 

near,  and,  yet,  so  far. 

Ah !  just  to  stretch  my  hand  and  touch  the  musky 

sandals  on  your  feet! — 
My  breaking  heart!  of  rapture  sweet  it  never 

could  have  held  so  much. 

Oh,    beauty-haunted    memory!  Your    face    so 

proud,  your  eyes  so  calm, 
Your  body  like  a  slim  young  palm,  and  sinuous 

as  a  willow  tree. 

Caught  up  beneath  your  slender  arms,  and 
girdled  'round  your  supple  waist, 

A  robe  of  curious  silk  that  graced, but  only  scarce 
concealed  your  charms. 

A  golden  band  about  your  head,  a  crimson  jewel 

at  your  throat 
Which,  when  the  sunlight  on  it  smote,  turned 

to  a  living  heart  and  bled. 
[59] 


FIFTY  YEARS  fef  OTHER  POEMS 

But,  oh,  that  mystic  bleeding  stone,  that  work 

of  Nature's  magic  art, 
Which  mimicked  so  a  wounded  heart,  could 

never  bleed  as  did  my  own ! 

Now  after  ages  long  and  sad,  in  this  stern  land 

we  meet  anew ; 
No  more  a  princess  proud  are  you,  and  I  —  I  am 

no  serving  lad. 

And  yet,  dividing  us,   I  meet  a  wider  gulf  than 

that  which  stood 
Between  a  princess  of  the  blood  and  him  who 

served  low  at  her  feet. 


THE  REWARD 

No  greater  earthly  boon  than  this  I  crave, 
That  those  who  some  day  gather  'round  my 

grave, 

In  place  of  tears,  may  whisper  of  me  then, 
"He  sang  a  song  that  reached  the  hearts  of 


[60] 


JINGLES  &?  CROONS 


JINGLES  6?  CROONS 


SENCE  YOU  WENT  AWAY 

Seems  lak  to  me  de  stars  don't  shine  so  bright, 
Seems  lak  to  me  de  sun  done  loss  his  light, 
Seems  lak  to  me  der's  nothin'  goin'  right, 
Sence  you  went  away. 

Seems  lak  to  me  de  sky  ain't  half  so  blue, 
Seems  lak  to  me  dat  ev'y thing  wants  you, 
Seems  lak  to  me  I  don't  know  what  to  do, 
Sence  you  went  away. 

Seems  lak  to  me  dat  ev'ything  is  wrong, 
Seems  lak  to  me  de  day's  jes  twice  as  long, 
Seems  lak  to  me  de  bird's  forgot  his  song, 
Sence  you  went  away. 

Seems  lak  to  me  I  jes  can't  he'p  but  sigh, 
Seems  lak  to  me  ma  th'oat  keeps  gittin'  dry, 
Seems  lak  to  me  a  tear  stays  in  ma  eye, 
Sence  you  went  away. 


[63] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

MA  LADY'S  LIPS  AM  LIKE  DE  HONEY 

(Negro  Love  Song) 

Breeze  a-sighin'  and  a-blowin', 
Southern  summer  night. 
Stars  a-gleamin'  and  a-glowin', 
Moon  jes  shinin'  right. 
Strollin',  like  all  lovers  do, 
Down  de  lane  wid  Lindy  Lou ; 
Honey  on  her  lips  to  waste ; 
'Speck  I'm  gwine  to  steal  a  taste. 

Oh,  ma  lady's  lips  am  like  de  honey, 
Ma  lady's  lips  am  like  de  rose; 
An'  I'm  jes  like  de  little  bee  a-buzzin' 
'Round  de  flower  wha'  de  nectah  grows. 
Ma  lady's  lips  dey  smile  so  temptin', 
Ma  lady's  teeth  so  white  dey  shine, 
Oh,  ma  lady's  lips  so  tantalizin', 
Ma  lady's  lips  so  close  to  mine. 

Bird  a-whistlin'  and  a-swayin' 
In  de  live-oak  tree; 
Seems  to  me  he  keeps  a-sayin', 
"Kissdatgalfo'me." 
Look  heah,  Mister  Mockin'  Bird, 
Gwine  to  take  you  at  yo'  word ; 
If  I  meets  ma  Waterloo, 
Gwine  to  blame  it  all  on  you. 
[64] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

Oh,  ma  lady's  lips  am  like  de  honey, 
Ma  lady's  lips  am  like  de  rose; 
An'  I'm  jes  like  de  little  bee  a-buzzin' 
'Round  de  flower  wha'  de  nectah  grows. 
Ma  lady's  lips  dey  smile  so  temptin', 
Ma  lady's  teeth  so  white  dey  shine, 
Oh,  ma  lady's  lips  so  tantalizin', 
Ma  lady's  lips  so  close  to  mine. 

Honey  in  de  rose,  I  spose,  is 

Put  der  fo'  de  bee ; 

Honey  on  her  lips,  I  knows,  is 

Put  der  jes  fo'  me. 

Seen  a  sparkle  in  her  eye, 

Heard  her  heave  a  little  sigh ; 

Felt  her  kinder  squeeze  ma  han', 

'Nuff  to  make  me  understan'. 


[65] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

TUNK 

(A  Lecture  on  Modern  Education) 

Look  heah,  Tunk!  —  Now,  ain't  dis  awful! 

T'ought  I  sont  you  off  to  school. 
Don't  you  know  dat  you  is  growin'  up  to  be  a 

reg'lah  fool? 

Whah's  dem  books  dat  I's  done  bought  you? 

Look  heah,  boy,  you  tell  me  quick, 
Whah's  dat  Webster  blue-back  spellah  an'  dat 

bran'  new  'rifmatic? 

W'ile  I'm  t'inkin'  you  is  lahnin'  in  de  school, 

why  bless  ma  soul ! 
You  off  in  de  woods  a-playin' .   Can't  you  do  like 

you  is  tole? 

Boy,  I  tell  you,  it's  jes  scan'lous  d'way  dat  you 

is  goin'  on. 
An'  you  sholy  go'n  be  sorry,  jes  as  true  as  you 

is  bo'n. 

Heah  I'm  try  in'  hard  to  raise  you  as  a  credit  to 

dis  race, 
An'  you  tryin'  heap  much  harder  fu'  to  come  up 

in  disgrace. 

[66] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Dese  de  days  w'en  men  don't  git  up  to  de  top 

by  hooks  an'  crooks; 
Tell  you  now,  dey's  got  to  git  der  standin'  on 

a  pile  o'  books. 

W'en  you  sees  a  darkey  goin'  to  de  fiel'  as  soon 

as  light, 
Followin'  a  mule  across  it  f'om  de  mawnin'  tel 

de  night, 

Wukin'  all  his  life  fu'  vittles,  hoein'  'tween  de 

cott'n  rows, 
W'en  he  knocks  off  ole  an'  tiah'd,  ownin'  nut'n 

but  his  clo'es, 

You  kin  put  it  down  to  ignunce,  aftah  all  what's 

done  an'  said, 
You  kin  bet  dat  dat  same  darkey  ain't  got  nut'n 

in  his  head. 

Ain't  you   seed  dem  w'ite  men   set'n  in   der 

awfice?   Don't  you  know 
Dey  goes  der  'bout  nine  each  mawnin'?   Bless 

yo'  soul,  dey's  out  by  fo'. 

Dey  jes  does  a  little  writin' ;  does  dat  by  some 

easy  means; 
Gals  jes  set  an'  play  piannah  on  dem  printin' 

press  muchines. 

[67] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

Chile,  dem  men  knows  how  to  figgah,  how  to 

use  dat  little  pen, 
An'  dey  knows  dat  blue-back  spellah  f'om  be- 

ginnin'  to  de  en'. 

Dat's  de  'feet  of  education;  dat's  de  t'ing  what's 

gwine  to  rule ; 
Git  dem  books,  you  lazy  rascal !   Git  back  to  yo' 

place  in  school ! 


[68] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

NOBODY'S  LOOKIN'  BUT  DE  OWL 
AND  DE  MOON 

(A  Negro  Serenade) 

De  river  is  a-glistenin'  in  de  moonlight, 
De  owl  is  set'n  high  up  in  de  tree; 
De  little  stars  am  twinklin'  wid  a  sof  light, 
De  night  seems  only  jes  fu'  you  an'  me. 
Thoo  de  trees  de  breezes  am  a-sighin', 
Breathin'  out  a  sort  o'  lover's  croon, 
Der's  nobody  lookin'  or  a-spyin', 
Nobody  but  de  owl  an'  de  moon. 

Nobody's  lookin'  but  de  owl  an'  de  moon, 
An'  de  night  is  balmy;  fu'  de  month  is  June; 
Come  den,  Honey,  won't  you?   Come  to  meet 

me  soon, 
Wile  nobody's  lookin'  but  de  owl  an'  de  moon. 

I  feel  so  kinder  lonely  all  de  daytime, 
It  seems  I  raly  don't  know  what  to  do; 
I  jes  keep  sort  a-longin'  fu'  de  night-time, 
'Cause  den  I  know  dat  I  can  be  wid  you. 
An'  de  thought  jes  sets  my  brain  a-swayin', 
An'  my  heart  a-beatin'  to  a  tune; 
Come,  de  owl  won't  tell  w'at  we's  a-sayin', 
An'  cose  you  know  we  kin  trus'  de  moon. 

[69] 


JINGLES  V  CROONS 

YOU'S  SWEET  TO  YO'  MAMMY 
JES  DE  SAME 

(Lullaby) 

Shet  yo'  eyes,  ma  little  pickaninny,  go  to  sleep 
Mammy's  watchin'  by  you  all  de  w'ile; 
Daddy  is  a-wukin'  down  in  de  cott'n  fiel', 
Wukin'  fu'  his  little  honey  child. 
An*  yo'  mammy's  heart  is  jes  a-brimmin'  full 

o'lub 

Fu'  you  f'om  yo'  head  down  to  yo'  feet; 
Oh,   no  mattah  w'at  some  othah   folks  may 

t'ink  o'  you, 
To  yo'  mammy's  heart  you's  mighty  sweet. 

You's  sweet  to  yo'  mammy  jes  de  same; 

Dat's  why  she  calls  you  Honey  fu'  yo'  name. 

Yo'  face  is  black,  dat's  true, 

An'  yo'  hair  is  woolly,  too, 

But,  you's  sweet  to  yo'  mammy  jes  de  same. 

Up  der  in  de  big  house  w'ere  dey  lib  so  rich  an' 

gran' 

Dey's  got  chillen  dat  dey  lubs,  I  s'pose; 
Chillen  dat  is  purty,  oh,  but  dey  can't  lub  dem 

mo* 
Dan  yo'  mammy  lubs  you,  heaben  knows! 

[70] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Dey  may  t'ink  you's  homely,  an'  yo'  clo'es  dey 

may  be  po', 

But  yo'  shinin'  eyes,  dey  hoi's  a  light 
Dat,  my  Honey,  w'en  you  opens  dem  so  big  an* 

roun', 
Makes  you  lubly  in  yo'  mammy's  sight. 


A  PLANTATION  BACCHANAL 

W'en  ole  Mister  Sun  gits  tiah'd  a-hangin' 

High  up  in  de  sky; 

W'en    der    ain't    no    thunder    and    light'nin' 

a-bangin', 

An'  de  crap's  done  all  laid  by; 
W'en  yo'  bones  ain't  achin'  wid  de  rheumatics, 
Den  yo'  ride  de  mule  to  town, 
Git  a  great  big  jug  o*  de  ole  corn  juice, 
An'  w'en  you  drink  her  down  — 

Jes  lay  away  ole  Trouble, 
An'  dry  up  all  yo'  tears; 
Yo'  pleasure  sho'  to  double 
An'  you  bound  to  lose  yo'  keers. 
Jes  lay  away  ole  Sorrer 
High  upon  de  shelf; 
And  never  mind  to-morrer, 
'Twill  take  care  of  itself. 


[71] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

Wen  ole  Mister  Age  begins  a-stealin' 

Thoo  yo'  back  an'  knees, 

Wen  yo'  bones  an'  jints  lose  der  limber  feelin', 

An'  am  stiff'nin'  by  degrees; 

Now  der's  jes  one  way  to  feel  young  and  spry, 

Wen  you  heah  dem  banjos  soun' 

Git  a  great  big  swig  o'  de  ole  corn  juice, 

An'  w'en  you  drink  her  down  — 

Jes  lay  away  ole  Trouble, 
An'  dry  up  all  yo'  tears; 
Yo'  pleasure  sho'  to  double 
An'  you  bound  to  lose  yo'  keers. 
Jes  lay  away  ole  Sorrer 
High  upon  de  shelf; 
And  never  mind  to-morrer, 
'Twill  take  care  of  itself. 


[72] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 


JULY  IN  GEORGY 

I'm  back  down  in  ole  Georgy  w'ere  de  sun  is 

shinin'  hot, 
W'ere  de  cawn  it  is  a-tasslin',  gittin'  ready  fu' 

de  pot; 

W'ere  de  cott'n  is  a-openin'  an'  a-w'itenin'  in 

de  sun, 
An'  de  ripenin'  o'  de  sugah-cane  is  mighty  nigh 

begun. 

An'  de  locus'  is  a-singin'  f'om  eveh  bush  an' 
tree, 

An'  you  kin  heah  de  hummin'  o'  de  noisy  bum 
blebee  ; 

An'  de  mule  he  Stan's  a-dreamin'  an'  a-dreamin' 

in  de  lot, 
An'  de  sun  it  is  a-shinin'  mighty  hot,  hot,  hot. 

But  evehbody  is  a-restin',  fu'  de  craps  is  all  laid 

by, 

An'  time  fu'  de  camp-meetin'  is  a-drawin'  purty 
nigh; 

An'  we's  put  away  de  ploughshare,  an'  we's  done 

hung  up  de  spade, 
An'  we's  eatin'  watermelon,  an'  a-layin'  in  de 

shade. 

[73] 


JINGLES  tf  CROONS 


A  BANJO  SONG 

Wen  de  banjos  wuz  a-ringin', 

An'  de  darkies  wuz  a-singin', 

Oh,  wuzen  dem  de  good  times  sho! 

All  de  ole  folks  would  be  chattin', 

An'  de  pickaninnies  pattin', 

As  dey  heah'd  de  feet  a-shufflin'  'cross  de  flo', 

An'  how  we'd  dance,  an'  how  we'd  sing! 
Dance  tel  de  day  done  break. 
An'  how  dem  banjos  dey  would  ring, 
An'  de  cabin  flo'  would  shake! 


Come  along,  come  along, 
Come  along,  come  along, 
Don't  you  heah  dem  banjos  a-ringin'; 


Gib  a  song,  gib  a  song, 
Gib  a  song,  gib  a  song, 
Git  yo'  feet  fixed  up  fu'  a-wingin'. 

Wile  de  banjos  dey  go  plunka,  plunka,  plunk, 

We'll  dance  tel  de  ole  flo'  shake; 

Wile  de    feet    keep    a-goin'    chooka,  chooka, 

chook, 
We'll  dance  tel  de  day  done  break. 


[74] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 


ANSWER  TO  PRAYER 

Der  ain't  no  use  in  say  in'  de  Lawd  won't  answer 

prah; 
If  you  knows  how  to  ax  Him,  I  knows  He's 

bound  to  heah. 

De  trouble  is,  some  people  don't  ax  de  proper 

way, 
Den  w'en  dey  git's  no  answer  dey  doubts  de  use 

to  pray. 

You  got  to  use  egzac'ly  de  'spressions  an'  de 

words 
To  show  dat  'tween  yo'  faith  an'  works,  you 

'pends  on  works  two-thirds. 

Now,  one  time   I   remember  —  jes   how  long 

I  won't  say  — 
I  thought  I'd  like  a  turkey  to  eat  on  Chris'mus 

day. 

Fu'  weeks  I  dreamed  'bout  turkeys,  a-struttin' 

in  der  pride ; 
But  seed  no  way  to  get  one  —  widout  de  Lawd 

pervide. 

An'  so  I  went  to  prayin',  I  pray'd  wid  all  my 
might; 

[75] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

"  Lawd,  sen'  to  me  a  turkey."    I  pray'd  bofe 
day  an'  night. 

"  Lawd,  sen'  to  me  a  turkey,  a  big  one  if  you 

please." 
I  'clar  to  heaben  I  pray'd  so  much  I  mos'  wore 

out  ma  knees. 

I  pray'd  dat  prah  so  often,  I  pray'd  dat  prah  so 

long, 
Yet  didn't  git  no  turkey,  I  know'd  'twas  sump'n 

wrong. 

So  on  de  night  'fore  Chris'mus  w'en  I  got  down 

to  pray, 
"  Lawd,  sen'  me  to  a  turkey,"    I  had  de  sense 

to  say. 

"  Lawd,  sen'  me  to  a  turkey."    I  know  dat  prah 

was  right, 
An'  it  was  sholy  answer'd;  I   got  de  bird  dat 

night. 


[76] 


JINGLES  fcf  CROONS 


DAT  GAL  O'  MINE 

Skin  as  black  an'  jes  as  sof  as  a  velvet  dress, 
Teeth  as  white  as  ivory  —  well  dey  is  I  guess. 

Eyes  dat's  jes  as  big  an'  bright  as  de  evenin' 

star; 
An'  dat  hoi'  some  sort  o'  light  lublier  by  far. 

Hair  don't  hang 'way  down  her  back;    plaited 

up  in  rows; 
Wid  de  two  en's  dat's  behin'  tied  wid  ribben 

bows. 

Han's  dat  raly  wuz'n  made  fu'  hard  work,  I'm 

sho'; 
Got  a  little  bit  o'  foot;  weahs  a  numbah  fo'. 

You  jes  oughtah  see  dat  gal  Sunday's  w'en  she 

goes 
To  de  Baptis'  meetin'  house,  dressed  in  her 

bes'  clo'es. 

W'en   she  puts  her  w'ite  dress  on  an'  othah 

things  so  fine ; 
Now,  Su',  don't  you  know  I'm  proud  o'  dat  gal 

o'  mine. 


[77] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 


THE  SEASONS 

Wen  de  leaves  begin  to  fall, 

An'  de  fros'  is  on  de  ground, 

An'  de  'simmons  is  a-ripenin'  on  de  tree; 

Wen  I  heah  de  dinner  call, 

An'  de  chillen  gadder  'round, 

'Tis  den  de  'possum  is  de  meat  fu'  me. 

Wen  de  wintertime  am  pas' 

An'  de  spring  is  come  at  las', 

Wen  de  good  ole  summer  sun  begins  to  shine; 

Oh!  my  thoughts  den  tek  a  turn, 

An'  my  heart  begins  to  yearn 

Fo'  dat  watermelon  growin'  on  de  vine. 

Now,  de  yeah  will  sholy  bring 

'Round  a  season  fu'  us  all, 

Ev'y  one  kin  pick  his  season  f 'om  de  res' ; 

But  de  melon  in  de  spring, 

An'  de  'possum  in  de  fall, 

Mek  it  hard  to  tell  which  time  o'  year  am  bes'. 


[78] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

'POSSUM  SONG 

(A  Warning} 

'Simmons  ripenin'  in  de  fall, 

You  better  run, 

B rudder  'Possum,  run! 

Mockin'  bird  commence  to  call, 

You  better  run,  B  rudder  'Possum,  git  out  de 

way! 
You  better  run,  Brudder  'Possum,  git  out  de 

way! 

Run  some  whar  an'  hide! 
Ole  moon  am  sinkin' 
Down  behin'  de  tree. 
Ole  Eph  am  thinkin' 
An'  chuckelin'  wid  glee. 
Ole  Tige  am  blinkin' 
An'  frisky  as  kin  be, 
Yo'  chances,  Brudder  'Possum, 
Look  mighty  slim  to  me. 

Run,  run,  run,  I  tell  you, 
Run,  Brudder  'Possum,  run! 
Run,  run,  run,  I  tell  you, 
Ole  Eph's  got  a  gun. 
Pickaninnies  grinnin' 
Waitin'  fu'  to  see  de  fun. 


[79] 


JINGLES  &  CROONS 

You  better  run,   Brudder  'Possum,  git  out  de 

way! 
Run,  Brudder  'Possum,  run! 


Brudder 'Possum  take  a  tip; 

You  better  run, 

Brudder  'Possum,  run! 

'Tain't  no  use  in  actin'  flip, 

You  better  run,  Brudder  'Possum,  git  out  de 

way! 
You  better  run,  Brudder  'Possum,  git  out  de 

way! 

Run  some  whar  an'  hide. 
Dey's  gwine  to  houn'  you 
All  along  de  line, 
Wen  dey  done  foun'  you, 
Den  what's  de  use  in  sighin'? 
Wid  taters  roun*  you. 
You  sholy  would  tase  fine — 
So  listen,  Brudder  'Possum, 
You  better  be  a-flyin'. 

Run,  run,  run,  I  tell  you, 
Run,  Brudder  'Possum,  run! 
Run,  run,  run,  I  tell  you, 
Ole  Eph's  got  a  gun. 
Pickaninnies  grinnin' 
Wai  tin'  fu'  to  see  de  fun. 

You  better  run,  Brudder 'Possum,  git  out  de  way! 
Run,  Brudder  'Possum,  run! 
[80] 


JINGLES  V  CROONS 

BRER  RABBIT,  YOU'S  DE  CUTES' 
OF  'EM  ALL 

Once  der  was  a  meetin*  in  de  wilderness, 

All  de  critters  of  creation  dey  was  dar ; 

Brer  Rabbit,  Brer  'Possum,  Brer  Wolf,   Brer 

Fox, 

King  Lion,  Mister  Terrapin,  Mister  B'ar. 
De  question  fu'  discussion  was,   uWho  is  de 

bigges'  man?" 

Dey  'pinted  ole  Jedge  Owl  to  decide; 
He  polished  up  his  spectacles  an'  put  'em  on  his 

nose, 
An'  to  the  question  slowly  he  replied: 

"Brer  Wolf  am  mighty  cunnin', 

Brer  Fox  am  mighty  sly, 

Brer  Terrapin  an'  'Possum  —  kinder  small; 

Brer  Lion's  mighty  vicious, 

Brer  B'ar  he's  sorter  'spicious, 

Brer  Rabbit,  you's  de  cutes'  of  'em  all." 

Dis  caused  a  great  confusion  'mongst  de  animals, 
Ev'y  critter  claimed  dat  he  had  won  de  prize; 
Dey  'sputed  an'  dey  arg'ed,  dey  growled  an'  dey 

roared, 
Den  putty  soon  de  dus'  begin  to  rise.  • 


[81 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Brer  Rabbit  he  jes'  stood  aside  an'  urged  'em 

on  to  fight. 

Brer  Lion  he  mos'  tore  Brer  B'ar  in  two; 
Wen  dey  was  all  so  tiahd  dat  dey  couldn't  catch 

der  bref 
Brer  Rabbit  he  jes'  grabbed  de  prize  an'  flew. 

Brer  Wolf  am  mighty  cunnin', 

Brer  Fox  am  mighty  sly, 

Brer  Terrapin  an'  Possum  —  kinder  small; 

Brer  Lion's  mighty  vicious, 

Brer  B'ar  he's  sorter  'spicious, 

Brer  Rabbit,  you's  de  cutes'  of  'em  all. 


AN  EXPLANATION 

Look  heah  !  'Splain  to  me  de  reason 
Why  you  said  to  Squire  Lee, 
Der  wuz  twelve  ole  chicken  thieves 
In  dis  heah  town,  includin'  me. 
Ef  he  tole  you  dat,  my  brudder, 
He  said  sump'n  dat  warn't  true; 
W'at  I  said  wuz  dis,  dat  der  wuz 
Twelve,  widout  includin'  you. 

Oh!   ...     !  — 


[82] 


JINGLES  fcf  CROONS 

DE   LITTLE    PICKANINNY'S   GONE 
TO  SLEEP 

Cuddle  down,  ma  honey,  in  yo'  bed, 
Go  to  sleep  an'  res'  yo'  little  head, 
Been  a-kind  o'  ailin'  all  de  day? 
Didn't  have  no  sperit  fu'  to  play? 
Never  min' ;  to-morrer,  w'en  you  wek, 
Daddy's  gwine  to  ride  you  on  his  bek, 
'Roun'  an'  roun'  de  cabin  flo'  so  fas'  — 
Der!   He's  closed  his  little  eyes  at  las'. 

De  little  pickaninny's  gone  to  sleep, 
Cuddled  in  his  trundle  bed  so  tiny, 
De  little  pickaninny's  gone  to  sleep, 
Closed  his  little  eyes  so  bright  an'  shiny. 
Hush!  an'  w'en  you  walk  across  de  flo' 
Step  across  it  very  sof  an'  slow. 
De  shadders  all  aroun'  begin  to  creep, 
De  little  pickaninny's  gone  to  sleep. 

Mandy,  w'at's  de  matter  wid  dat  chile? 
Keeps  a-sighin'  ev'y  little  w'ile; 
Seems  to  me  I  heayhd  him  sorter  groan, 
Lord!  his  little  han's  am  col'  as  stone! 
W'at's  dat  far-off  light  dat's  in  his  eyes? 
Dat's  a  light  dey's  borrow'd  f'om  de  skies; 
Fol'  his  little  han's  across  his  breas', 
Let  de  little  pickaninny  res'. 

[83] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 


THE  RIVALS 

Look  heah!   Is  I  evah  tole  you  'bout  de  curious 

way  I  won 
Anna  Liza?  Say,   I   nevah?  Well  heah's  how 

de  thing  wuz  done. 

Lize,    you    know,    wuz    mighty   purty  —  dat's 

been  forty  yeahs  ago  — 
'N  'cos  to  look  at  her  dis  minit,  you  might'n 

spose  dat  it  wuz  so. 

She  wuz  jes  de  greates'  'traction  in  de  county, 

'n  bless  de  lam' ! 
Eveh  darkey  wuz  a-co'tin,  but  it  lay  'twix  me 

an'  Sam. 

You  know  Sam.   We  both  wuz  wukin'  on  de  ole 

John  Tompkin's  place. 
'N  evehbody  wuz  a-watchin'  t'see  who's  gwine 

to  win  de  race. 

Hee!  hee!  hee!  Now  you  mus'  raley 'scuse  me  fu' 

dis  snickering, 
But  I  jes  can't  he'p  f 'om  laffin'  eveh  time  I  tells 

dis  thing. 


[84] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Ez  I  wuz  a-sayin',  me  an'  Sam  wuked  daily  side 

by  side, 
He  a-studyin',  me  a-studyin',  how  to  win  Lize 

fu'  a  bride. 

Well,  de  race  was  kinder  equal,  Lize  wuz  sorter 

on  de  fence; 
Sam  he  had  de  mostes  dollars,  an'  I  had  de  mostes 

sense. 

Things  dey  run  along  'bout  eben  tel  der  come 

Big  Meetin'  day; 
Sam  den  thought,  to  win  Miss  Liza,  he  had 

foun'  de  shoest  way. 

An'  you  talk  about  big  meetin's!     None  been 

like  it  'fore  nor  sence; 
Der  wuz  sich  a  crowd  o'  people  dat  we  had  to 

put  up  tents. 

Der  wuz  preachers  f'om  de  Eas',  an'  'der  wuz 

preachers  f'om  de  Wes' ; 
Folks  had  kilt  mos'  eveh  chicken,  an*  wuz  fat- 

tenin'  up  de  res'. 

Gals  had  all  got  new  w'ite  dresses,  an'  bought 

ribbens  fu'  der  hair, 
Fixin'  fu'  de  openin'  Sunday,  prayin'  dat  de 

day'd  be  fair. 

[85] 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Dat  de  Reveren'  Jasper  Jones  of  Mount  Moriah, 

it  wuz  'low'd, 
Wuz  to  preach  de  openin'  sermon;  so  you  know 

der  wuz  a  crowd. 

Fu'  dat  man  wuz  sho  a  preacher;    had  a  voice 

jes  like  a  bull; 
So  der  ain't  no  use  in  sayin'  dat  de  meetin'  house 

wuz  full. 

Folks  wuz  der  f 'om  Big  Pine  Hollow,  some  come 

'way  f'om  Muddy  Creek, 
Some  come  jes  to  stay  fu'  Sunday,  but  de  crowd 

stay'd  thoo  de  week. 

Some  come  ridin'  in  top-buggies  wid  de  w'eels 

all  painted  red, 
Pulled  by  mules  dat  run  like  rabbits,  each  one 

tryin'  to  git  ahead. 

Othah    po'rer    folks    come   drivin'    mules   dat 

leaned  up  'ginst  de  shaf, 
Hitched    to   broke-down,    creaky   wagons   dat 

looked  like  dey'd  drap  in  half. 

But  de  bigges'  crowd  come  walkin',  wid  der  new 

shoes  on  der  backs; 
'Scuse  wuz  dat  dey  couldn't  weah  em  'cause  de 

heels  wuz  full  o'  tacks. 
[86] 


JINGLES  &  CROONS 

Fact  is,  it's  a  job  for  Job,  a-trudgin'  in  de  sun  an* 

heat, 
Down  a  long  an'  dusty  clay  road  wid  yo'  shoes 

packed  full  o'  feet. 

'Cose  dey  stopt  an'  put  dem  shoes  on  w'en  dey 

got  mos'  to  de  do' ; 
Den  dey  had  to  grin  an'  bear  it;  dat  tuk  good 

religion  sho. 

But  I  mos'  forgot  ma  story,  —  well  at  las'  dat 

Sunday  came 
And  it  seemed  dat  evehbody,  blin'  an'  deef,  an* 

halt  an'  lame, 

Wuz  out  in  de  grove  a-waitin'  fu'  de  meetin'  to 

begin ; 
Ef  dat  crowd  had  got  converted  'twould  a  been 

de  end  o*  sin. 

Lize  wuz  der  in  all  her  glory,  purty  ez  a  big  sun- 

flowah, 
I  kin  'member  how  she  looked  jes  same  ez  'twuz 

dis  ve'y  houah. 

But  to  make  ma  story  shorter,  w'ile  we  wuz 

a-waitin'  der, 
Down  de  road  we  spied  a  cloud  o'  dus'  dat  filled 

up  all  de  air. 

[87] 


JINGLES  fcf  CROONS 

An'  ez  we  kep'  on  a-lookin',  out  f'om  'mongst 

dat  ve'y  cloud, 
Sam,  on  Marse  John's  big  mule,  Caesar,  rode 

right  slam  up  in  de  crowd. 

You  jes  oughtah  seed  dat  darkey,  'clar  I  like 

tah  loss  ma  bref ; 
Fu'  to  use  a  common  'spression,  he  wuz  'bout 

nigh  dressed  to  def. 

He  had  slipped  to  town  dat  Sat'day,  didn't  let 

nobody  know, 
An'  had  car'yd  all  his  cash  an'  lef  it  in  de  dry 

goods  sto'. 

He  had  on  a  bran'  new  suit  o'  sto'-bought  clo'es, 

a  high  plug  hat; 
He  looked  'zactly  like  a  gen 'man,  tain't  no  use 

d'nyin'  dat. 

Wen  he  got  down  off  dat  mule  an'  bowed  to 

Liza  I  could  see 
How  she  looked  at  him  so  'dmirin',  an'  jes  kinder 

glanced  at  me. 

Den  I  know'd  to  win  dat  gal,  I  sho  would  need 

some  othah  means 
'Sides  a-hangin'  'round  big  meetin'  in  a  suit  o' 

homespun  jeans. 

[88] 


JINGLES  fef  CROONS 

Wen  dey  blow'd  de  ho'n  fu'  preachin',  an'  de 

crowd  all  went  inside, 
I  jes  felt  ez  doh  I'd  like  tah  go  off  in  de  woods 

an' hide. 

So  I  stay'd  outside  de  meetin',  set'n  underneat' 

de  trees, 
Seemed  to  me  I  sot  der  ages,  wid  ma  elbows  on 

ma  knees. 

Wen  dey  sung  dat  hymn,  ''Nobody  knows  de 

trouble  dat  I  see," 
Seem'd  to  me  dat  dey  wuz  singin'  even  word  o' 

it  fu'  me. 

Jes  how  long  I  might  ha'  sot  der,  actin'  like  a 

cussed  fool, 
I  don't  know,  but  it  jes  happen'd  dat  I  look'd 

an'  saw  Sam's  mule. 

An'  de  thought  come  slowly  tricklin'  thoo  ma 

brain  right  der  an'  den, 
Dat,   perhaps,  wid   some  persuasion,   I   could 

make  dat  mule  ma  fren! 

An'  I  jes  kep'  on  a-thinkin',  an'  I  kep'  a-lookin' 

'roun', 
Tel  I  spied  two  great  big  san'  spurs  right  close 

by  me  on  de  groun'. 


JINGLES  y  CROONS 

Well,  I  took  dem  spurs  an'  put  em  underneat'  o' 

Caesar's  saddle, 
So  dey'd  press  down  in  his  backbone  soon  ez 

Sam  had  got  a-straddle. 

'Twuz  a  pretty  ticklish  job,  an'  jes  ez  soon  ez  it 

wuz  done, 
I  went  back  w'ere  I  wuz  set'n  fu'  to  wait  an'  see 

de  fun. 

Purty  soon  heah  come  de  people,  jes  a-swa'min' 

out  de  do', 
Talkin'  'bout  de  "pow'ful  sermon"  —  "nevah 

heah'dde  likes  befoV 

How  de  "monahs  fell  convicted"  jes  de  same 

ez  lumps  o'  lead, 
How  dat  some  wuz  still  a-layin'  same  es  if  dey'd 

been  struck  dead. 

An*  to  rectly  heah  come  Liza,  Sam  a-strollin'  by 

her  side, 
An'  it  seem'd  to  me  dat  darky's  smile  wuz  'bout 

twelve  inches  wide. 

Look  to  me  like  he  had  swelled  up  to  'bout 

twice  his  natchul  size, 
An'  I  heah'd  him  say,  "I'd  like  to  be  yo'  'scort 

to-night,  Miss  Lize." 
[90] 


JINGLES  tf  CROONS 

Den  he  made  a  bow  jes  like  he's  gwine  to  make 

a  speech  in  school, 
An'  walk'd  jes  ez  proud  ez  Marse  John  over  to 

untie  his  mule, 

Wen  Sam's  foot  fust  touched  de  stirrup  he 
know'd  der  wuz  sump'n  wrong; 

'Cuz  de  mule  begin  to  tremble  an'  to  sorter  side 
along. 

Wen  Sam  raised  his  weight  to  mount  him, 

Caesar  bristled  up  his  ear, 
Wen  Sam  sot  down  in  de  saddle,  den  dat  mule 

cummenced  to  rear. 

An'  he  reared  an'  pitched  an'  caper 'd,  only  ez  a 

mule  kin  pitch, 
Tel  he  flung  Sam  clean  f 'om  off  him,  landed  him 

squar'  in  a  ditch. 

Wen  dat  darky  riz,  well  raly,  I  felt  kinder  bad 

fu'  him; 

He  had  bust  dem  cheap  sto'  britches  f  om  de 
center  to  de  rim. 

All  de  plug  hat  dat  wuz  lef  him  wuz  de  brim 

aroun'  his  neck, 
Smear 'd  wid  mud  f'om  top  to  bottom,  well,  he 

wuz  a  sight,  I  'speck. 
[91] 


JINGLES  V  CROONS 

Wuz  de  folks  a-laffin'?    Well,  su',  I  jes  sholy 

thought  dey'd  bus'; 
Wuz  Sam  laffin'?    'Twuz  de  fus'   time  dat   I 

evah  heah'd  him  cuss. 

Wile  Sam  slink'd  off  thoo  de  backwoods  I 
walk'd  slowly  home  wid  Lize, 

W'en  I  axed  her  jes  one  question  der  wuz  sump'n 
in  her  eyes 

Made  me  know  der  wuz  no  need  o'  any  answer 

bein'  said, 
An'  I  felt  jes  like  de  whole  world  wuz  a-spinnin' 

'roun'  ma  head. 

So  I  said,  "Lize,  w'en  we  marry,  mus'  I  weah 

some  sto'-bought  clo'es?" 
She  says,  "Jeans  is  good  enough  fu'  any  po' 

folks,  heaben  knows!" 


[92] 


//  homely  virtues  draw  from  me  a  tune 

In  happy  jingle  or  a  half -sad  croon; 

Or  if  the  smoldering  future  should  inspire 

My  hand  to  strike  the  seer's  prophetic  lyre; 

Or  if  injustice,  brutishness  and  wrong 

Should  make  a  blasting  trumpet  of  my  song; 

0  God,  give  beauty  and  strength  —  truth  to  my 

words, 

Oh,  may  they  fall  like  sweetly  cadenced  chords, 
Or  burn  like  beacon  fires  from  out  the  dark, 
Or  speed  like  arrows,  swift  and  sure,  to  the  mark. 


CA^II^P^^T  •"•  ^^Ft-/o 

StAVER -HOW LAND  PRESS 

271  Franklin  St. 
VOSTOX 


2&2.5" 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


